


Broken Swords

by Kit_SummerIsle



Series: Prime Nights [3]
Category: Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Golden Age, Incest, M/M, Multi, Oral, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Threesome, dp
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2016-09-08
Packaged: 2018-01-20 03:32:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1494991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kit_SummerIsle/pseuds/Kit_SummerIsle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The third installment of Prime Nights, dealing with what remained open in the second part - that is, the relationship between Megatron, Optimus Prime and Starscream; spiced with a little plot this time too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Iacon

Megatron leaned down to brush his lipplates onto Starscream’s darker ones. They fell open invitingly, like always, releasing an eager little sigh, yearning for him, wanting him… the Seeker’s deep, unconditional love was heady at times, but right now, Megatron luxuriated in it fully. His field encompassed the Seeker’s, his lust and caring satisfying the other’s needy craving just as his glossa satisfied his mouth. Holding himself up on his arms by Starscream’s shoulders, he rubbed his pelvic plate on the red ones and groaned when the blue servos found and fondled the gaps on his sides, where the plates had a slight overlap over some sensory clusters. Starscream whimpered into the kiss and his hot plate slid away at the barest touch, baring his already lubricating valve.

Megatron was happy that Starscream fully got over his fears of interfacing in the last few vorns. It might have taken a long time, but then he was abused for far longer… but he wasn’t thinking of that now, neither of them was. His spike nearly ached it was so hard and Megatron didn’t keep it behind the cover any longer. Rubbing the twitching shaft on the lubricant dripping from the valve he was treated of Starscream impatiently biting his glossa and bucking up to wedge his spike between their frames.

“Pleeeease…! Mooore…! Mega…ahhhh…tron!”

Megatron laughed into the kiss and obliged. Sinking into Starscream always felt like arriving home, second only in amazingness to his brother’s valve – rare as that latter was to experience. It was always snug, tight, incredibly hot and wet, excited calipers fluttering maddeningly around him, driving him to completion faster than anything else. Not to mention the little, needy sounds the Seeker breathed, moaned or screeched nearly continuously while he thrust into his perfect valve and which made him want to stay in him forever. 

“Faster… please, more, Megatron, ohh, yessss, that…! Ahhhh… again!”

The Lord High Protector growled low and obeyed, slamming into the innermost node again, biting down the neck cord with his fangs, shattering Starscream, who, with a shrill shriek tightened around him and overloaded, optics impossibly wide and whitened out… their usual blue still bothered him sometimes, but never in the berth, never in the throes of passion. He thrust once, twice more into the incredibly tight valve and overloaded too, filling the Seeker with his transfluid completely. 

Vents roaring, servos ever so slightly shaking, he took care not to slump onto the slighter form as he lay by him on the berth. He did that once and found that his weight pinning Starscream to the berth was still enough to bring up painful memories. It wasn’t fun to come online again with a shaking, stuttering Starscream under him fighting back tears and trying desperately to free himself. Since then he was careful of that, possibly the last such trigger the Seeker still had. 

Starscream mewled contentedly, a surprisingly warm sound and curled towards him, throwing one long leg around his thighs, not in the least uncomfortable with the large spike still deep in him. In fact he was already rippling his calipers in a way that awakened the desire in Megatron again and made him purr deeply as he took the pliant mouth in a heated kiss. As much as he had legendary stamina in the berth, the Seeker had a similarly insatiable lust that made them go at it again and again until it was the emptiness in their tanks that made them stop. 

But even endlessly long dark cycles ended once and Megatron reluctantly acknowledged the third alert ping that told him that he had to leave. Lord High Protector of the planet, co-ruler and all that, but he still had work, duties to do… and besides he would never live down the other Starscream’s lewd jokes in the next meeting if he was late because of excessive berth-play. Not that the Air Commander could say much, since his insatiable nature was well known in the court, but the glitch could still sharpen his glossa on his boss like no other. On top of it, the Seeker was angry with him this time and with some reason…

-o-o-o-

Starscream stood at the edge of the landing field, waiting for the transport to land. Thundercracker had taken Skywarp with him on a long mission that had started out as simple training for the new troops – but ended up as real battles after they ran into a little fleet of surprisingly dangerous organics that thought to claim the otherwise uninhabited planet for themselves. With only a few seasoned officers with them and many untrained, inexperienced, young warriors, they were scattered by the ferocious attack and it took them decacycles to regroup, reorganize and fight back effectively. Thundercracker, leading the mission was wounded early on, unable to fly and Skywarp did an admirable job of keeping him alive until they got back the main group. 

And he couldn’t be there with them!

Starscream fumed silently as he stood there, tapping a heel on the stark metal of the landing pad impatiently. For a fragging Air Commander, he was the last one in the Palace to get the reports, Megatron and Ironhide keeping it from him, supposedly to _save him the worry_ for his injured and missing Trine-mate! Slagging groundpounders understood nothing how a Trine worked! Of course he would have been on his way the nanoklik he got news of TC being injured! It wasn’t even a question, not a single doubt about it. It was his duty and it was… well, it was TC. And Skywarp too, he admitted. 

He studiously ignored the slagging Ironhide beside him, the Infantry Commander also out to see their troops returning from their impromptu real battles. Megatron, the slagger was probably still in the berth of… Skyraider. If Starscream didn’t know better, he would have been suspicious of the Seeker, his counterpart at that, of ensnaring the Lord High Protector from his brother. Impossible that that was with them being bondmates, but still. Mechs already started to talk and once courtiers got their denta into an interesting piece of gossip, none of them let it go easily. Megatron should be more… careful was not quite the word one told to the Lord Protector, but maybe he wouldn’t slag his wings for… covert.

Starscream was drawn from his musings by the tower sensors pinging him with the signal of the approaching transport and he hitched up his wings and still ignoring Ironhide, stepped forward, out from the entrance alcove they were standing so far. The transport shuttle landed with a roar of sound and little vortices of gushing wind from its engines, making him miss the klik when the Lord High Protector joined them, until he felt an unexpected servo bracing his back in the mini-tornado. The larger mech smirked down at him and Starscream, still irritated scowled back. He fragging didn’t need support, it was just a little wind and he wasn’t a Seekerling to be blown back by a landing shuttle.

“I think that obnoxious Seeker of yours deserves a medal for keeping Thundercracker alive.”

Megatron spoke up with forced nonchalance, ignoring his Second’s resolutely angry expression, the smirk still on his lipplates. He knew just how much Starscream tried to subtly manoeuvre Skywarp into anything resembling a distinction, but the black Seeker was nearly hopeless in regards to ambition – and while he was comfortable to remain an unimportant nomech, he didn’t seem realize that he had no hope of courting Starscream that way. Therefore Megatron gladly grabbed the handy occasion to make up to his irritated and annoyed Second by suggesting a promotion to Skywarp.

He didn’t miss the little flare of the white wings, though Starscream remained resolutely turned away from him and his field stayed cold, brushing him off. The shuttle landed and finally the turbulent winds died down on the landing pad, letting them all go closer. Megatron didn’t generally turn up at every training mission that got back, but then it wasn’t all that often for new mechs to get into live fighting so soon either. They had casualties even, something that rarely happened these vorns, making the survivors even more valuable – and incidentally Skywarp’s heroics standing out even more than usual.

As the shuttle dropped its hatch and the mechs started to step out, Megatron continued to watch Starscream, who couldn’t wait any longer and was already on his way to greet his mate and see to the troops. The Seeker was a good Air Commander, none doubted it, if a bit unorthodox at times, but always caring for the mechs under his command. The white wings flared high and fluttered like always when he was close to his Trine-second – but that was until he saw Thundercracker limping out, helped and supported by Skywarp’s even darker form. They didn’t have medics with them, not on a training mission and a Seeker without wings was an awful sight even for him. 

Starscream stopped, like he was hit and his wings dropped so fast, he might have sprained the joint. Optics widening in outrage he shed every ounce of dignity and formality, fired his thrusters to be with his wingmate faster… and it took Skywarp bracing Thundercracker, not to knock them back with his frightening intensity. 

Ohh, the medics would fix Thundercracker, they all knew, but for a Seeker it was the next worst thing to being deactivated. Megatron watched them to leave, for once the blue Seeker in the middle and the Lord High Protector smirked a little again. He doubted that he’d see those three for awhile, even after Thundercracker had his wings back. Seeker Trines interfaced enough under normal circumstances, but when one of them was injured, recovering and reconnecting… then one had better not to disturb them until they felt like coming out of their quarters on their own.

And anyhow, Skywarp’s promotion could wait those few orns. 

After seeing to the rest of the troops and leaving them in Ironhide’s capable servos, the Lord High Protector did his fortunately small amount of paperwork in his office, had his usual ornly shouting match with the Security Director for his excessive measures in the Palace Security, grabbed a few cubes of midgrade and went to see what Optimus was doing. He hoped to entice his brother to a training fight, as it would do good for both of them, but unfortunately in peacetime the Lord Prime always had more duties than himself, so he was ready to be refused as well. 

Just as expected, Optimus was in his office and conferring with Prowl, the desk strewn with datapads in a disorganized way it must have acutely pained the pedantic Minister. Optimus’s field was enough to put _him_ on the edge though – whatever they discussed was not to his liking. When none of them paid him attention, not even when he got closer, Megatron contemplated to leave. 

“No, brother, stay.” – Optimus spoke up suddenly, directed to him – “It should involve you too.”

Megatron lifted a brow plate but got closer and monopolized Optimus’s desk-corner for a seat, brushing the datapads aside. Prowl dipped a doorwing in an acknowledgement of his presence and passed a datapad to him. It was a short summary only, of a civilian movement in Tarn, little interest to him under normal circumstances. Megatron frowned at his brother as he looked up from it.

“How on Cybertron would it involve me?”

“Don’t you recognize that one designation?”

The text on the datapad lit up, one word highlighted at Prowl’s subtle command. Megatron growled. How had he missed it, he wasn’t sure…

“Galvatron…” – he hissed, embarrassed almost both at his oversight and the designation he wanted nothing else but forget. He skimmed the short report again, but nothing else stood out that he could see – “What has he done this time?”

“Nothing… yet. But the affiliations to this movement are serious.” – Prowl explained – “He’s managed to entice most of Tarn’s weapons factory owners to support his movement and there are even Council members on the sympathizer list.”

“What is he spouting now?”

“Your _brother_ …” – Optimus’s sneer was almost palpable even through the mask – “is alluding that he should be a better Lord High Protector than you. Being an elder and whatnot.”

Megatron snarled outright at that. Galvatron was… mildly put, not quite right in processor. Was he any mech else but his brother, the purple mech would have been sent for corrective therapy long ago, but the Lord High Protector felt he should defend his brother’s actions, even when the mech was outright slandering the Prime. Maybe it was a mistake… and Galvatron might have benefited more from a firm servo than the free reign.

He glanced at Optimus, but his mate was closed from him and his field radiated hot anger. Optimus never actually liked him, but he had put up with the mech with his usual open-minded fairness while they were younglings and they managed to live together as a family. But something snapped in Galvatron when Optimus was declared Prime and Megatron as Lord High Protector and from then on, he devoted his existence to bring them down from the posts he decided that they didn’t deserve. Intelligent enough not to act against them outright, he became an unofficial opposition to their rule, gathering around him all the assorted mechs who were for one reason or other dissatisfied with how things stood on Cybertron. 

But it was still new from him to go against his favourite brother, Megatron. So far he always directed his actions against the Prime, trying anything from discrediting his work till spreading slander about him. Too bad for him that Optimus worked hard and good for the planet and made very few enemies on the way; and his private activities were no secret from the public either. Simply put, he was the most popular Prime as far as anymech cared to remember. Apparently Galvatron too realized it at last and changed target.

“I’ll deal with him.” – his tone promised that it would be more than just talks… not that Galvatron ever learned from anything, be it talking or a beating.

“No.” – Megatron’s helm snapped up at Optimus’s firm disagreement – “You shouldn’t protect him… again.”

“I don’t want to protect him!”

“But you always intercept him before he does anything serious. This way he never had to face the real consequences of what he is trying to do.” – Optimus paused, giving weight to his next words – “Like his followers.”

Megatron frowned. He never considered it this way, but it was true. Galvatron has spearheaded quite a few attempts that could be construed as assassinations or beginnings of rebellion, but he never had to face a court – while his followers got what any mech disturbing the peace got: various sentences of prison, fines, restrictions or corrective therapy as the court decided in each case.

“It would look bad if _our_ brother got sent to prison.”

His stress on the word got him a dark glance from Optimus, who never cared about that relationship. Of course Galvatron and him, they’ve never been close. 

“That argument got him a parole quite a few times and he always broke his promises. No, brother, it is time to accept that he won’t change on his own.”

Megatron didn’t like it, but he felt that Optimus was right. Galvatron has had chances and broke them all. 

“So, what are we to do with him?”

It was Prowl who answered in his emotionless, clipped way.

“Nothing as of now. Let him build his movement now, let him come out with his plans and let him commit himself until there is no way he can back out of it. Then, and only then we should act like it was anymech else.”

Megatron growled. It would land Galvatron in prison for sure or even worse and he was his brother still. There was a sibling bond that was weakened from living apart from each other, but it still connected them and he was obliged to help and protect his brother in trouble. Optimus should understand it. Part of what made him the Lord High Protector was this strut-deep urge to protect those close to him. No matter what they did or whether they deserved it.

“I can’t… won’t let him be thrown to prison!”

“If he continues to act like this… you _can_ and you _will_!”

Optimus was growling too and they stood up, facing each other menacingly, armour flaring and optics flashing with anger. Prowl stood up too, unhurried, but firm and nodding to them left the office. They hardly even noticed the Minister leaving in the battle of wills. Prowl knew how those ended and he wasn’t going to stick around to see it.

It was predictably Megatron, who made the first move. Feinting to the right he struck Optimus straight in the chest, pushing him stumbling backwards. The elaborate chairs were kicked away and the fallen datapads gave crunching sounds under their pedes. He never even saw the kick that buckled his left knee, because he was already following up the first blow by grabbing a blue servo and yanking it towards himself with all the considerable force he’s got. Compensating for the weakened leg he threw Optimus with the momentum and whirled after him to pin him to the ground.

He got a blue fist into his faceplates and for a nanoklik he saw stars – frag, but the glitch could hit good. The momentary dazedness was enough for Optimus to slip away from underneath and Megatron crashed to the ground with his own momentum. Hard. Even harder was to feel Optimus’s weight suddenly on his back and the inexorable strength that bent his left arm backwards into a tight hold. 

Megatron tried to buckle and throw his annoyingly adept brother off of him but Optimus got a good position and held onto his arm too vicelike. His right was pinned down by a blue leg – fragging long legs his brother had, so good when curled around him in interface… but annoying when it was acting against him. The shoulder joint was starting to creak warningly, the cables stretched to the breaking point. If he insisted on heaving up he might end up with an arm less. Megatron stilled for a nanoklik, contemplating his options. Optimus’s field was serious and angry, maybe understandable given the topic, but there was… something more to it too. 

Optimus’s other arm sneaked around his neck despite him trying to keep it flush to the ground and it started to force his head up too. Neck cords strained and pulled to withstand the force his brother was exerting but the best he could achieve was a stalemate. Neither was Optimus able to bend his helm up, nor was he able to free it. Or the other parts of his frame. Only his legs were able to move but the position Optimus forced him into didn’t give them many opportunities either. 

Optimus tightened his hold imperceptibly and Megatron swallowed back a grunt of pain.

“Do you yield?” – his brother was panting from the exertion too, but his hold was solid. If it wasn’t he on the receiving end, Megatron would have congratulated him on the well-executed and properly held manoeuvre.

Megatron tried another move but the burning hot agony that erupted in his shoulder told him that it wouldn’t work. His engine revved angrily, its power unable to free him from the embarrassing position. In answer Optimus’s engine purred deeply and it shot a shockingly hot and lustful feeling into his back – even under all that armour, the wing-sensors translated that vibration as enjoyable. His will being underminded by force as well as lust Megatron’s growl deepened. He lost, he knew it, now he might as well enjoy what was coming... 

But slag if he was saying it out loud.

Optimus’s engine now growled contentedly and his field was slagging smug for having one up on him. The hold relaxed imperceptibly until the burn muted to an ache and his helm was let down as well. He contemplated making a move now, but Optimus was no newbie and the hold was still strong enough to keep him where he was, unless he wanted his arm torn off. His thoughts were a bit derailed though when Optimus slid down on his back and his engine was making its happy little revs straight over his interface equipment. 

“Glitch! Ahh…”

He didn’t squirm. No. It was just… maddening. Optimus’s low, throaty laugh didn’t help any, nor had his suddenly hot and lustful field that enveloped him as surely as his brother was. He felt a pede sneak between his legs and before he could close them, the tip of it stroke the inside of one thigh, drawing a hot line on it that made him forget his intention. In fact in a klik he realized that he parted his legs a little, like inviting Optimus there. Which he wasn’t… was he?

The question became moot in the next klik when Optimus slipped down into the space between his legs, nudging them even more apart, his happily purring engine ever so closer to his… ahhh! The glitch revved it up strongly again and Megatron couldn’t force back the moan. The hold on his arm was barely a token effort now, he realized when Optimus’s other servo rubbed his valve panel insistently. No matter how much he hated the idea, he was warming up considerably under the deft touches. 

Rarely used, rarely touched sensors and calipers were awakening inside, tightening in anticipation… and lubricant flooded them inside, the first drop oozing out when he couldn’t hold the unbearably hot panel closed any more. Optimus’s cheerful purring was nearly annoying by this time and Megatron growled his engine back to him half in mock annoyance, half trying to urge him on. Slagging glitch that he was… he was going to take his time. 

Blunt digits sneaked in, between his thighs and circled the slowly moisturizing rim, making him groan. Then the questing digits snuck lower, flicking the outer nub, but continued to rub his spike panel too. What the frag…? But it was only for a klik and Optimus’s devious hand urged him to lift his aft, sliding his thighs under… ohhh frag… that was an… unusual position. Megatron realized that he could have freed his servo any time now, only… he didn’t want to. The hot tip of his brother’s spike that nudged his entrance was occupying too much of his attention by this time. Lifting his aft on his knees he scooted backwards as the servo on his hips demanded, Optimus slowly impaling him from behind. 

“Frag…” – he ground out at the uncomfortably tight but still incredibly hot feeling that he hated and loved in equal measures. No other spike could touch his valve ever and he barely tolerated his brother’s… but he couldn’t deny that those slagging mods on his spike were creating a havoc among his valve sensors. The slow impalement was new too, they usually coupled much rougher… but it made the feeling even more incredible. Megatron dropped his helm and tried hard not to moan as the elaborate spike of his brother slid over the inner sensors one by one until it hit the end and he couldn’t stay silent any longer.

“Opti…muuus!”

“Brother… you… sound like… hnhhh… enjoying it!”

“Slag! Shut… ahhh.. up! And frag me… already!”

“As you wish!”

He was going to delete that smug smile from his mate’s faceplates. Later.

For now Megatron was glad that Optimus rose a little, gripped his hips and started thrusting in earnest. He pulled the aching left arm inwards, not quite able to lean on it as the cables still burned like wildfire, but giving a little stabilisation, so he was able to grind back, into the thrusts. The charge was growing now steadily and much as he hated himself for it, Megatron was unable to arrest all the moans that fell from his lips. Instead he focused on gripping Optimus’s spike inside, the inexperienced calipers tightening and letting loose in a nearly random sentence… that still seemed to have an effect on his brother. Optimus was panting hard just like him and his thrusts became harder and more erratic, their plates clanging together in the hot atmosphere created by their overworked vents.

Megatron dropped his helm to the ground again as his innermost node was hit again, shattering his resolve to stay – relatively – quiet. He also gave up denying how good it felt. It would be hard to insist, not when he was moaning like a pleasurebot as his mate’s spike impaled him again and again. Then Optimus was gathering his hips up and kneeling up fully started to thrust for a new angle, slightly groaning at the weight. At first he felt uncomfortable, but the spike ramming into the ceiling node from this angle scattered all rational thoughts soon.

“Ahhhh…. Optimuuuuus!”

His legs tightened around his brother’s waist until the sturdy armour plates creaked and he positively roared his designation into the air. Megatron barely heard Optimus laughing breathlessly behind, but he felt the next thrust that flooded his valve with scorching hot transfluid and he definitely heard his own inarticulate shout that went with his climax. 

“Unhh…”

He slumped forward, cables suddenly weakening and static circling his vision. Sated bliss threatened to swallow him up and the weight on him pressed him even deeper down. He didn’t even had the strength to growl at his mate who was, or rather appeared to be barely conscious, just like himself, with the advantage of being on top. It took their madly working vents over a breem to cool their frames somewhat and let the processor take up the work again. Optimus moved first, puling out with a sparkfelt groan and rolling to the side, vents still gulping in the cooler air, a smugly satisfied smirk on his lipplates that he was going to delete from there. Later. When he could lift a servo and trust it not to tremble. 

“That was… you _enjoyed_ it!”

There was a tinge of surprise in Optimus’s voice but pride nearly overshadowed it. Megatron tried to growl and deny it, but he could never outright lie to his mate. Not when his field and the bond betrayed him anyway. 

“It was… not disagreeable.” – he said stiffly instead, daring him to laugh again. He was sore inside and out, but the sated bliss he felt was hard to deny. 

But Optimus didn’t laugh at him, in fact he rolled to his side, lifting himself on an elbow to look at him seriously.

“I’m… glad.” – a blue digit stroked the edge of his helm, where it joined the head-plating, sending a little zing through his sensornet. Megatron glanced back to him and was nearly shocked by the seriousness. – “I thought… I thought you enjoyed being with… Starscream more lately.”

He couldn’t speak for a breem, staring at his mate in near shock. Optimus was… jealous? Was that the little something he felt earlier in the bond? With some effort he, too rose onto an elbow, holding the other arm awkwardly as it still ached like Pit. He felt a little offended. They both have agreed to it and it wasn’t like Megatron was cheating on him!

“You thought… that I preferred him?”

“It has… crossed my processor.” – Optimus was frowning, little jags of hurt flickering in his field.

Megatron leaned forward and ignoring the steadily burning agony in his shoulder tugged him close, shook him to get rid of the slight stiffness.

“You are an idiot.” – he declared – “But I love you.”

He proceeded with a thorough kiss to punctuate his words.

“But if it disturbs you, I can stop with Starscream. He should feel better by now anyhow.”

This time the kiss was reciprocated too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are still two Starscreams, one outwardly going by the designation Skyraider - but when he is alone he thinks of himself as Starscream still. Sorry if it is confusing!


	2. Tarn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've never before written Galvatron and it is kinda hard to implant him into this society, but I hope he comes across as believable.

Hot Rod strolled down the row of stands leisurely, looking for the one selling his favourite snacks. His bright, shimmering colours shone with inner fire in the afternoon sunlight and he thoroughly enjoyed the attention his frame and colours garnered from passersby. Barely a vorn passed since he moved to the city after a whirlwind affair with those twins and the successful business partnership with Sideswipe that was profitable to both of them. It was good while it lasted, but after a while he felt like something missing, something not quite working out – the twins were great lovers, but not what he imagined as partners. They parted their ways then and Hot Rod, along with Kup, moved to Tarn to start a new life. The elder bot became sort of a teacher-advisor to him during the vorns and Hot Rod never minded listening to his advice, stories and tales. 

But they, too moved a bit apart lately, as Hot Rod wanted a bit more exciting life than staying in his luxurious home and listening to Kup’s old stories. He started racing, albeit with little success among the pro racers; he started to visit bars and clubs in hopes of finding friends and company; and in time his circle of acquaintances grew – and very few of them valued an old, nearly ancient bot’s grumbling tales of past glories. They wanted to make their own stories and tales. 

After buying the expensive treats he liked, Hot Rod turned towards the performers on the square. Quickly passing the musical stages which he didn’t enjoy so much, he came to a stage with a strange group occupying it and stopped for a breem to watch. A giant purple mech dominated the scene, accompanied by a blue and a purple flier, but it quickly became obvious that they weren’t performers – the big mech spouted something about politics which never interested Hot Rod. He was about to leave when a designation hit his processor and he had to turn back and listen.

“Megatron is deceiving every mech on Cybertron!” – the large, warrior-framed mech, who actually resembled to the one he mentioned, roared with nearly inarticulate rage – “He was not meant to be the true Lord High Protector!”

Even his companions flinched a little and looked uncomfortable at the bold words and Hot Rod noticed some Enforcers drawing closer, listening intently. Obviously the purple mech was known to them, as neither looked surprised at hearing the words that definitely went beyond simple political campaigning and into the realm of rebellion. Hot Rod didn’t want to be associated with the words, but something in the mech who said them interested him. 

“Who is he?” he asked one of the observers around the stage.

“His designation is Galvatron.” – the smaller, blue mech answered to him after a little, worried glance at the gathering Enforcers – “Has a little party of mechs opposing the current regime. Supposedly he is the Lord High Protector’s brother, if you can imagine that!” – he smirked a little – “I think he just spreads that rumour about himself.”

“Really? He does look similar…”

“Well, you can by any mod and armour these orns. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Nah, I mean he sounds similar… and his field teeks so too.”

The blue mech glanced at him, optics widened in surprise and with a little awe too.

“You know the Lord High Protector?”

“We’ve… met. Once.”

Blue optics took in his high-end frame and the well-polished, expensive paint-job and the mech’s posture immediately became more respectful.

“I didn’t know that my lord was from the court…”

Hot Rod blushed a little. He wasn’t the kind to lie outright, but a little added mysticism was good for his image, as far as he was concerned. It made mechs like him more.

“Well, not from the court. Just… close to it.”

“I don’t mean to pry, my lord… but you were saying that Galvatron was really the Lord High Protector’s brother?”

“I don’t know that exactly… but he can be.”

“Well, that lends a little more credit to his claims.”

“It certainly does!”

The deep, growling voice was a surprise to both of them, startling Hot Rod and his talking partner as well. It came… well, it came from a mech taller and larger than even the both of them, looming over them with an ominous shadow. Apparently the speeches ended and the huge mech, Galvatron came down from the platform to mingle with his scant audience. Hot Rod was tense. From up close the mech felt the same overpowering, overbearing personality than the Lord High Protector… only much, much more dangerous and uncontrolled somehow.

“Lord… Galvatron…?” - the still unnamed bot squeaked nervously, but the purple mech’s attentions was focused on Hot Rod completely.

“How well do you know my illustrious brother?”

“Not… all that well. We only met… once.” – even though it seemed the longest night cycle of his life so far.

The purple optics seemed to observe him deeply, like the red ones of the Lord High Protector’s, until Hot Rod felt like a mechainsect under the scrutiny. 

“And you seem to have fallen under his spell, I see.”

Hot Rod’s plating clamped close to his protoform and he desperately tried to stop the quaking of his knee-joints. But when he answered, his voice was steady enough, much to his pride about it.

“Lord Megatron appeared to be perfectly fitting for the job – and a very… pleasant mech to be around.”

“Yeah, he can talk circles around you and make a mech feel important by his presence, I give him that. But that’s not what a Lord High Protector should do! We should conquer and rule the universe, not cower in our little sphere of interest!”

The mech nearly roared the last words, his great servo in tight fists and his stark visage in an ugly scowl. Both Hot Rod and the other mech stepped back from the nearly palpable anger and enmity that oozed from the large, dark frame. Hot Rod noticed that they had a conspicuously wide, empty circle around them and wanted nothing else but disappear. But it was too late for that. He saw the enforcers around, not obviously observing them, but clearly there and taking notes, still-captures, videos.

“Look… it is not that I doubt you…. But I don’t think we should…”

“Are you afraid of the Prime’s spies?”

The title of the Prime was uttered with such loathing that Hot Rod automatically took another step backwards… or rather he wanted to, but found his upper arm in a steel grip of the purple mech’s servo. He wasn’t happy about that, not at all. Especially when he saw the unnamed mech disappearing from their company, leaving him alone with this deranged-looking hulk of a mech. 

“I… I’m not afraid. But I’m not interested either.” – he was proud how steady his voice came out. For all of a klik before Galvatron’s loud laughter boomed around them.

“Not afraid, ehhh…? I think I like you, little mech.”

Hot Rod wanted to protest, both against the liking, that was definitely not to _his_ liking and the diminutive that reminded him of the Lord High Protector… but Galvatron was already moving and dragging him too, towards Primus knew where.

“Hey… let me go at once!”

“Don’t worry. We just go to a place where the spy-count is lower. And we can drink a cube to celebrate our meeting.”

To celebrate… WHAT? Hot Rod didn’t want to celebrate this chance meeting with a suspiciously unhinged mech who was tailed with Enforcers. But he had little choice – go with him or struggle, be dragged and probably humiliated in public. No, he’d have to wait with leaving the situation until the other let go of his arm. 

The square was encircled with several quaint, little bars catering for the mechs strolling in the crystal garden or buying things in the market-square; and it was one of them that Galvatron choose as their target. Unfortunately for the already uneasy Hot Rod he choose one with secluded booths, making it nearly impossible to disappear without making a scene. Especially when they sat and the silent, blue flier from the stage appeared again suddenly and slid beside him on the bench, effectively boxing him in. What the frag did they want from him?

“Soooo…” – Galvatron drawled – “you know my illustrious brother. How come? You don’t look like a courtier.”

“We’ve met… by chance. And it was just once.”

Galvatron observed him for a klik, those purple optic so eerily the same in shrewd attention than Lord Megatron’s… and Hot Rod felt even more uncomfortable when Galvatron suddenly smirked at him and clapped his shoulder pauldron strong enough to dent the metal.

“They fragged you, didn’t they? Ehh-hehh… no need to be embarrassed, little mech, there was a time when it was me in that famous berth. They have a great appetite in mechs. And some taste too, I gotta admit.” – his smirk had a distinctly lewd leer in it now.

Hot Rod blushed hard nevertheless. It wasn’t something he just told to any mech and Galvatron blurting it out like it was nothing, came as an unpleasant surprise. The leer was making him hot, despite his unease and dislike of the mech and he shifted on the bench. Not far, as the other end was blocked by the flier with his wings and his scowl that looked permanently etched into his faceplates. 

“Y-yes, it was… like that. But what does it matter?”

“It matters, because my dearest brother can sway a mech fast and you couldn’t have possibly seen the whole truth about him. Them.”

“Which is…?”

“Straight to the point, ehh? I like this mech, Cyclonus. Don’t you? The truth? The truth is, that as the eldest, I should wear the title he now usurps. I should be the Lord High Protector. What’s your designation, by the way?”

“I’m Hot Rod… b-but… I thought the priests choose the ruling Dyad by signs from Primus himself…?”

“Signs, my mech, can be interpreted. Misinterpreted. Twisted and lied about. Optimus Prime wanted Megatron, because he hated me. He saw to it that the signs pointed to my dear brother. But I know what they did. They could never lie to me! I know that the signs indicated ME and not Megatron!”

“Lord Galvatron, please…” – the blue flier’s tone held warning and concern. They were starting to make a scene in the bar with Galvatron’s voice level.

“Shut up, Cyclonus! It was my birthright and I was robbed of it! I’ll never stay silent about it. Never!”

“But being thrown out of yet another place does not help our cause.” – this time the tone was wry though the flier dipped his wings in respect – “Nor does it help to convince this young mech of our honesty.”

“Right, right…” – Galvatron’s anger evaporated like energon in hard radiation and he turned back to Hot Rod, all smile and condescending manner suddenly – “Anyhow, what I told you is the truth. I may not be as smooth-talking as my dear brother, but what I do tell is true.”

“B-but… why should it concern me?”

“I am collecting followers. I have a political party, dedicated to convince the population that they live under the wrong rule and rectifying that mistake. I saw you were interested and you look an important, intelligent mech yourself. I’d be delighted to see you among my followers.”

“But I’m not even interested in politics!”

Galvatron waved away his objection, like it was a minor matter and continued to talk, expounding on his view, his plans – some of which made Hot Rod quake in his armour and look around worriedly – and his followers. Before he realized it, Hot Rod already agreed to join them in their next meeting, a decaorn from then… the high grade they kept buying might have had a servo in that, he wasn’t sure later. In the end he could hardly stand from the booth and had to endure the roaring laughs and snide comments from his companions, along with their help standing and walking. By that time Hot Rod didn’t so much minded their company – aside from the ridiculous political ideas, Galvatron was a good conversationist and Cyclonus an excellent listener, nodding and grunting at the proper places.

The next light cycle Hot Rod onlined in his own, luxurious apartment with a splitting processor-ache, thanks to so much cheap high-grade, various other aches that were really nothing besides the first and a deep dread in his tank, when he realized he couldn’t really remember much of the last part of the evening, much less his promises, whatever they were. Even more alarming was what he discovered when, after the relaxing the hot oil bath he started to scrub himself clean. The dark purple paint streaks clashed horribly with his paint job… but at least they explained the slight, burning ache in his valve. 

Hot Rod contemplated moving cities yet again while nursing his helmache and hoped that there were no more brothers in the Prime’s family.


	3. Iacon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A somewhat 'extra' chapter, because in the previous fic there was a comment by KDoodle, about an interface with two Starscreams, as a kink of its own dimensions (it might be the height of incest to frag oneself?) - and it was fitting here, so I wrote it. So be forewarner: it is a Seeker foursome with no less than two Starscreams. :-D
> 
> And on the same note... I used the same designation for both of them, but tried to differentiate still. Hope I succeeded. :-)

Starscream sat on his berth, servos clenching together from time to time and waited. Megatron was frequently late he reminded himself and he couldn’t blame the mech for it – the Lord High Protector was a busy mech and had many duties that came between him and a lonely, lowly Seeker scientist waiting for him. Starscream refrained from checking the time again. He knew Megatron was very late, much later than ever before. Maybe he wouldn’t come at all, the Seeker wondered, something must have happened to keep him away. It was… not all right, but he would have to accept it. Starscream stood and went back to the lab he was given. He would have to check on the experiments and maybe if he buried himself enough in work, he could forget how his spark ached.

A decaorn later he was nervous as he waited again. He would come. He would. He never missed two occasions in a row and apologized every time for being late. But something in his spark was twanging with a strange ache and something in his processor put two and two together and denied the result. He would come. He would. He must. Starscream sat on the berth, wringing his servos and fretted. 

A joor later, flopped back onto the berth he fought with tears. Megatron didn’t come. Again. Starscream never actively sought the Lord High Protector out, never wanted to presume, to pressure him… but this time, after waiting far longer than ever before, he stood like an automaton and wandered down the corridors like a sleepwalker. His spark whispered him where to go and Starscream followed its call like in recharge. He ended up in front of an elaborate door, the sounds of intense interfacing clear from behind it, complete with Lord Megatron’s deep growls and the Lord Prime’s slightly lighter breathless laugh. 

Starscream stood there like a statue for a breem, his emotions in a complete turmoil. Then he turned on his heel and marched back to his room, faceplates and emotions frozen. He had no right to demand, none even to ask. Megatron… this Megatron indulged him freely, but promised him nothing. He was not the Seeker’s mate, he was one other’s. He shouldn’t, mustn’t feel jealous for him to be with his mate, face with him, merge with him. He tried to ignore the little thought in the back of his processor that wanted to scream why now, why when they were to meet, why ignoring him… they were thoughts he shouldn’t have. 

In his quarters, Starscream gave in to the tears. He tried. He was immensely thankful of this world’s mechs to save him from his eternal slavery and let him stay in their world. He learned to be useful, he learned to co-work with mechs whom he was deathly afraid, he learned to see mechs again he thought deactivated. He learned to appreciate this gleaming Cybertron with its peace, prosperity and freedom. It wasn’t perfect, but it was far-far better than the Seeker ever seen or thought of. He was… if not happy, but content to be here. 

It would have been the Well itself, if not for one thing… one mech. Maybe it was a mistake to accept Megatron’s pity frag in the first place. It was a bitter thought on his glossa, making his scarred spark ache again. The Lord High Protector was so much like his counterpart, too much… and Starscream hoped against hope, wished against common sense, prayed against realities that he could have once more what he had lost. And though he didn’t quite get it, the Lord High Protector was still a balm on his spark’s wounds, something he had no right to expect, but which he was given freely. 

Until now, that is. Starscream thought back the last metacycle with a clearer head, examined the signs that he so far ignored or excused and brooded. Looking back it was clear at what point Megatron started to be always late, miss their meetings and send no apologising message afterwards. To discover that it wasn’t even out of inevitable work of state, only to frag his brother, whom he could frag at any other time… no, he still had no right to be jealous, Starscream reminded himself with clenched denta. But he could still be sparkbroken. That… no mech could deny him.

He needed something to do, something to snap his processor out of the useless circle of thoughts and the lab was not enticing either, not at this time… Starcream stood and with surer steps he thought himself capable, left the room, marched down the corridor, up with a lift and emerged into a high platform only Seekers used to takeoff and landing. The bright, sun-stroked, glittering city was a sight to behold around him, but the blue optics stared up, into the similar sky… the Seeker took a deep, steadying invent and jumped into the air. 

After being grounded for countless vorns, flying became a luxury, something he indulged himself and not a necessity. He withstood the insanity that fliers all so often succumbed to when losing the freedom of sky and he could exist without it, like so few of his frame-kin could. It wasn’t a good existence, but Starscream was intimately familiar with losses and spark-aches and they put even flying into a perspective. But still, he pondered as he lifted off and spread his wings, still, flying was able to calm his processor… if not his spark. 

As he flew, Starscream was distantly aware of the aerial traffic around him, so it wasn’t a surprise when a Trine in formation approached him. Politely he banked a little, out of their path, probably heading for landing on the platform he’s just left… when the leader of the Trine turned around and pinged him.

::Would you like a little company?::

It was the comm channel of his counterpart and Starscream was glad to see the familiar shapes and colours. Much as he kept to himself since being here, right now he welcomed their presence.

::Yeah, you look like you could use a little workout.::

Skywarp’s flippant tone was as familiar as it was welcome – a balm of an entirely different kind.

::I don’t mind some company. If you have time to spare on me…?::

::We need air time together too. We are spending too much time on the ground as it is..::

Thundercracker’s dry, wry voice answered to his comm and Starscream gave up being polite and withdrawn. He needed the company, and especially their familiar, known, much-missed company. They played in the air for joors and he almost managed to forget his troubles, when Starscream… the other spoke up as they landed.

“You know you still look like slag. How are you? Mechs giving you hard time? You can come to me if something like that occurs, you know.”

“No… everything is… all right.”

“That’s a load of pitslag.” – Skywarp butted in – “Starscream is right, you look awful.”

“You can tell us, you know? Sometimes it is easier to share a burden.”

Starscream stared back at them, envying them for being there for each other… he could never have a Trine again, all the medics agreed that his scarred spark couldn’t take the strain of a three-way bond again. But they were still offering him to share his pain… and after the flying it all came back with full force. From up close he also noticed the slight distance of the black Seeker from the other two, noting that they still haven’t trined with him. He looked like belonging to them… but it was not yet fully the real thing. But it wasn’t his problem…. unfortunately.

“Come on.” – Starscream, the other took the initiative as he usually did – “You need an audience, but in privacy and probably a few cubes of high-grade too. We have both in our apartment.”

The Seekers’ rooms weren’t far as Starscream wanted them to be as high in the Palace as possible, looking down on it from one of the towers. It was, as Seekers preferred it, light, airy with plenty of windows, mostly open, scant furniture only, all designed with winged mechs in processor and cluttered with everything Skywarp and Thundercracker collected. Skyraider looked around with a faint smile, recognizing many of the items – the teleporter here apparently had similar tastes than his long dead counterpart. 

“Sit. Drink. Talk.”

He was pushed towards a cushioned sofa with low back and no arms, a cube pressed into his servos and the Trine settled around him in various sitting arrangements. Starscream straddled a chair facing him wings signalling attention and concern; Thundercracker settled on the pair of his own sofa with wings set carefully to be neutral; and Skywarp sprawled on the soft floor, legs in the air, chin propped up on his servos, wings fluttering in a way vaguely signalling interest, sympathy and a general satisfied good mood. Skyraider carefully kept his wings from talking much, except some polite respect for the higher ranking Seekers.

He awkwardly drank a gulp from the cube and his blue optics widened slightly at the taste. It was the best Vosian high-grade he ever drank, way before the war, so long ago even the memory file was somewhat corrupted… Liquid Lightning it was called, he remembered as the effect it got its designation from flashed through his neural net, searing the capacitors slightly. He gulped some more, fortifying himself to talk.

“You probably know that… me and… Lord Megatron… ummm…”

“You have a thing going, we know.” – neither Seeker was surprised.

“That’s exactly… I think we _had_ a thing going.”

“Ahhhh… what happened?”

“He just… stopped coming. Was late more and more, missed some agreed dates… and now… it is over, I know that much.”

Starscream frowned but it wasn’t an angry frown. 

“It’s not like Lord Megatron to just… break off without a word.”

“I wouldn’t know…” – he whispered, the pain attacking his spark again, helm bowing down, huddling onto himself.

He was surprised when he felt the first servo on his wing. Starscream moved to settle beside him on the couch and it was his touch Skyraider felt, a slow, calming stroke on the flat of the wing. It felt good in ways having nothing to do with the physical touch – the strange _sameness_ of his field soothed him surprisingly, but effectively.

“You should seek him out, talk with him.” – the slow, gentle strokes continued and they were joined by another from his left, Thundercracker’s black servo repeating and mirroring Starscream’s, without words, just with his strong, protective and calm field. 

“He does feel something for you, we know that. Maybe he’s just busy…”

Skyraider snorted bitterly at that. He wasn’t going to buy that, not even from these Seekers.

“But you don’t think so…”

Was Starscream reading his processor? Skyraider looked up, into the knowing optics of his counterpart incredulously. 

“Lord Optimus Prime is… possessive. He agreed to us interfacing, but I think he regrets it now.”

Three sharp invents told him that it was dangerous grounds. Not that he didn’t know that, but Skyraider was past caring about what he should or should not say. They wanted to know the truth? Well, here it was. 

“Silly thing… The Lord Prime wants you as badly as he wants his brother. If not for your fear of him you could be in their berth for ages, having both of them.”

He nearly forgot to invent for breems. Optics wide, staring to Starscream, he tried to make sense of that… but it did make sense, in the most roundabout way. The _other_ Optimus’s obsession with him could have translated into that kind of an interest here – if his theory of parallels between the universes were correct. Still, the idea gave him shudders and he fought with memories trying to surge up, into the forefront of his processor, memories that he never again wanted to see…

“Forget that now… you need to snap out of this… pessimistic cycle. We can help that.”

He looked into the red optics again, their too similar glances connecting, as unvoiced, wordless emotions flew between them.

“If you want to, that is…”

The strokes became stronger, calming, firing up sensors in an entirely different way now. Starscream’s voice turned throaty, whispering him reassurances, calming him, trying to turn his fear into something else. And he let it be diverted, let the petting warm his plating, let the sympathetic voices drown him in a pleasant, not-hurting, not painful haze and didn’t even forget to nod his assent to his counterpart. He wanted the diversion, the calming, the interface that would help him put things into perspective.

It wasn’t like the Lord Prime wasn’t appealing. Now that he dared to think him that way, Starscream had to admit that this version of him was just enough gentler, his frame just a tad bit smoother, less aggressively formed, his colours lighter, instead of the stark purple and black, sporting pleasing, civilian reds and blues… and his voice calm instead of cruel, smooth not harsh and his field… it was fit for a great leader and not a mad dictator. All in all, he was just different enough to be considered… appealing. But the problem was he was similar enough for his counterpart to bring up frightening memories too. But right now Starscream didn’t want to think about him or his brother-mate at all. 

He let them pull him up and let them draw him to their berthroom, lay him gently among the dozens of colourful pillows and arrange him to their liking and his comfort. He nearly drowned among the myriad of soft cushions and his processor was swamped with touches, strokes and sweet talk that he never before experienced. Neither Megatron was a mech of much words in the berth and he was surprised how god it was, this three-toned pampering of words, touches and softness…

Thundercracker murmured praises into his audials, while his digits danced on his wings in a way he could only describe as maddeningly knowledgeable. His soft, deep voice was safety and protection and deeply sensual at the same time. Starscream punctuated it with sharper, witty remarks and his claws stroked and pulled wires that bordered, but never actually got painful. Instead it made him moan and want it more. Skywarp peppered their words with promises so obscenely filthy they were deeply arousing and worked his way up on his legs with a determination Starscream rarely felt from his former trine-mate, the prankster teleporter, leaving no sensor, no node untouched, no seam unmolested, no wires unplucked.

Starscream was a puddle of heated, aroused and melted goo in kliks. It was impossible to withstand the Trine’s machinations, not that he’d want to. He couldn’t for the life of him lift a single servo to reciprocate their attention – he wasn’t even sure where his limbs were, much less send them a coherent order to move. Starscream, the other, moved up and lay perpendicular to him on the berth, his mouth plundering his in a slowly warming, deepening, seemingly neverending kiss. Thundercracker shifted as well, getting behind Starscream and started to molest his wings, making the trine-leader bow his back and part his legs, wiggling his aft for his wing-second.

Skywarp finally arrived to his target and temporarily stopped his filthy commentary in order to give their guest’s panel some expert licks. The white thighs parted easily and he got closer to the heated panel that snapped open fast under his ministrations. Skywarp laughed deeply, sensuously, ex-venting onto the revealed array, giving a long lick to the still recessed spike and his digits flicked the node over the valve. Starscream bucked up slightly and his spike emerged, pressurizing rapidly. The teleported wasted no time to lick it, smearing the lubricant over the shaft and suck the top. He laughed again hearing the broken hitch in the invents and the deep, sparkfelt moan when the two Starscreams broke their kiss for a klik under their servos.

Thundercracker draped himself over his Trine-leader and made sure to leave plenty of paint streaks as he humped the pert, red aft, rubbing his still closed panel onto Starscream’s already hot one, oozing lubricants. His digits danced over the wings that fluttered and pushed into his servos. Neither of them could keep their panels closed for long though. The snick of them sliding aside and the smell of heated lubricant made them all heady and hot. Thundercracker’s blue spike sprang free of the constraining chamber and he rubbed it onto Starscream’s valve, smearing the hot lubricant over it before pushing slowly inside.

Starscream broke the kiss again to moan as he was impaled slowly but his counterpart didn’t let him move away. A shaky but determined arm sneaked around his shoulder-vents, insistently pulling his helm back down, a hungry mouth sought his own and a sneaky glossa mapped his mouth-plates thoroughly. The other was whimpering into the kiss and Starscream glanced over to what Skywarp was doing – the black Seeker was done with the spike, leaving it bobbing in the air, gleaming with his oral lubricant and he was working on the dripping valve with digits and glossa. He already fit three of his digits in and he was suckling on the outer node enthusiastically. It was a vista enough to make him moan too and only partly because Thundercracker’s thick spike stretched him wide, bordering on painful. His blue trine-mate knew he liked to be fragged without preparation, but he was still careful not to damage him. 

As he adjusted to the stretch – Thundercracker more than made up for not moving by fondling his ailerons in a maddening way – he saw Skywarp pop up from between the white thighs, faceplates smeared with lubricants, wearing a slag-eating grin. He climbed over the other Starscream, settling between his legs and finally let his spike spring free with a relieved sigh.

“Ya all right there?”

His answer was just an angry glare from their guest, saying without words not to stop if he held his life dear. Skywarp laughed and holding the red hips with his servos, impaled him with a single stroke, not letting him say any of the words he probably wanted to. Should this strange, other Starscream protested at any point, they would have left him alone – but he didn’t and, well…. he _was_ Starscream. In a way. In fact the way his calipers fluttered in waves around the black spike was anything but a protest. Skywarp gritted his denta – fragitall, even his Starscream couldn’t do _that_ with his valve! – and thrust deep. Thundercracker also picked up the tempo as the tight calipers loosened and his spike knocked on the ceiling node.

Starscream reacted to the wonderful stretch with a moan, muffled by the glossa in his mouth and by biting down a dark lip, so much his own. He licked the slight sting and the droplets of energon away and their glossae continued to fight, even as they were both pounded into by their respective partners. Words were lost in the heated, joined couplings, in the lubricant and ozone-scented air, in the slick sounds and clanging bangs of the interface. Soon thoughts too were lost in the fire of arousal, leaving them moan and grunt, whimper when a particularly sensitive node was rubbed, and babble incoherent encouragement to go faster, harder, deeper, more…

Skywarp and Thundercracker didn’t need the encouragement, the demands, the moans to do their best. They knew that Starscream could take their hardest – and demand more when he regained his senses. Two Starscreams were almost more than they could satisfy, but they sure tried. Slamming into his trine-leader hard enough to dent plates, it was Thundercracker who went over first, his muted, but still forceful sonics shaking them all to the core. His transfluid bursting into the spasming valve overloaded Starscream too, helm thrown back, back bowing like an inverted arch, screaming his climax into the cacophony of noises and slumping back onto the berth with Thundercracker on his back limply.

Skywarp laughed as he slammed into the receptive valve, the sonic boom, shaking them all up, nearly, but not quite enough to make him go over too. It took the other Starscream’s muffled yell and the impossibly tightening calipers to push him over and eject his transfluid into the valve, curling over the lighter form as he rode out his climax. They panted in tandem for a breem before any of them could speak up again…

“S-slag…” – Skywarp wheezed heavily – “…that was… intense.”

“mmmphhh….” – was all Sarscream could add to that, while his counterpart couldn’t even speak up. But the dopey, goofy smile sitting on his bitten lipplates spoke enough from his corner. 

Thundercracker made a heroic effort to lift himself up and off of his trine-leader, Starscream making vaguely dissatisfied noises as he pulled out. He also turned to his back, flicking wings out of the way to give his vents the more air to work with. Skywarp didn’t feel his legs too steady either, so he just slid to the side, flopping out while his vents desperately tried to gulp enough air to cool is frame. They were all in various states of sated bliss, trying to regain their senses. 

It was Starscream who managed it first, like always. Skywarp sometimes envied him for that incredible stamina in that slight, deceptively small and slender frame – he was perfectly capable of riding them both offline if the fancy took him. Now the red optics he got to know so well slid from him to his own counterpart, measuring up the mech whether he was relaxed enough, sated enough.

“Better?” – his voice was most raspy after such great overloads, the charge misaligning something in his vocalizer that Ratchet was so far unable to discover. But no mech present minded it much.

“Y-yes… thank you…”

“No need to thank this. It is natural.”

“Yeah, we are always glad to help you tire out enough so you won’t fret like TC does all the time.”

Starscream snickered in tandem with his counterpart while Thundercracker tried to collect enough energy to glower at Skywarp. He wasn’t very successful in it though and in the end he, too laughed at the black Seeker’s antics.

“Though you don’t look tired out to me.”

Starscream tried not to look too eager and failed royally. The overload was great, but he could go another round. Thundercracker’s spike was always just a tad bit thicker, stretching him amazingly… there was nothing wrong with Skywarp, he did great… but he would love to feel the other Seeker that way too. 

“I’m… not…” – he whispered on his most sensuous voice and was greeted with those red optics flashing dangerously…

His counterpart moved though, before any of the others could and shifted down his frame, lowering his helm onto the slowly pressurizing spike. Starscream moaned as he was engulfed into the hot, wet mouth of… well, of himself. And wasn’t that a queer idea? But he had a wicked thought too and pulled-pushed the other Starscream a bit, until he more or less lay on him, his messy equipment over his helm… until the other gave up holding himself up on his knee joints and sank down, Starscream’s servos positioning him so he could lick the red-blue spike as well. Tandem moans writhed around the spikes, the strange circular connection between them making them feel each other more than ever, the _sameness_ they always felt becoming nearly _oneness_ …

Frames flush to each other, cockpits scraping shrieking tracks on their twin, mouths on each other’s spikes the two intertwined Seekers hardly even noticed the other two Seekers sliding into position again. Thundercracker lifted the other Starscream’s hips - with his Starscream’s helm and all – with a slight groan to slide underneath, widely spread legs bracketing the red hips, servos lifting the white legs up and outward. His trine leader lifted his helm off the spike he was sucking so far and red optics flashed as he saw his blue mate sliding into the still messy valve right under his olfactory sensor. He smirked a little at the muffled moan – or was it an oath from the other Starscream? – and lowered his helm back to his work again.

But even he was hard put to stay on the job when he felt Skywarp kneeling behind his aft straddling him and thrust home in a single stroke.

“S-s-lag…” – he breathed around the spike in his mouth and felt the echoing, wordless agreement in his counterpart’s field. For a nanoklik a slight unease floated from the other too, of being nearly buried underneath them, but Thundercracker’s first thrusts and the pleasure exploding through his neural net from spike and valve together dispelled it completely and immediately. They couldn’t move much, except Skywarp with his enthusiastic thrusting, but their already high charge helped along with the awkwardness of the position. Thundercracker more rocked upwards than thrust, but he still managed to push the red spike into his mouth deeper until he swallowed it completely before bobbing up and off of it, keeping to a rhythm that probably didn’t even exist; that was probably wholly impossible to manage.

Garbled, muffled swearing translated as amazing vibrations around his spike – the other was taking him in just as deep as he did, despite of Skywarp’s energetic thrusts that made it harder to keep hold of Starscream’s spike. They weren’t going to last this way, the two-way interface, the oral and the penetration at the same time was just too much. Starscream felt the rising charge in the other’s field and his was rocketing up as well. They burst together, transfluid exploding into the other’s intakes, any screams immediately muffled by it and Starscream swore later that he saw stars before passing out. 

He didn’t feel Skywarp coming within him with a loud roar and he didn’t hear Thundercracker’s climax with another, much smaller sonic boom, because for the very first time in his long and colourful memories, Starscream was offlined in an interface.

Skywarp never failed to brag about it proudly afterwards. He had a Prime and a Seeker Winglord on his ‘ _knocked offline by fragging ‘cos I’m just that good_ ’ list and he was inordinately proud about it. Starscream didn’t have the spark to tell him that it was more his alter ego being that closely intertwined with him and the four-way interface even he never been part of before than the black Seeker’s actions alone. Considering that the other Starscream was knocked offline too, he was inclined to believe that his theory was right. 

But they did manage to put the lonely Seeker to a better mood and dispel his spark-aches at least temporarily. He looked in a far better mood than at the beginning and he even started to think about what they managed to tell him stories about the Lord Prime. Whether he could get over his deep-seated fears – for which Starscream didn’t blame the mech, since the abuse the other suffered would have made him too fear any Optimuses in any universe – or not was up to him; but at least he would have some more information to base his decision. After all, the Seekers knew some pretty colourful tales about the deeds of the Prime, with or without his Lord High Protector…


	4. Tangent

“Lord Optimus. There is one more matter you should pay attention to.”

Prowl was at the end of his decaornly report, so Optimus wasn’t listening as seriously to it as in the beginning; the matters requiring his attention decreased in importance as the report progressed and half his processor was already elsewhere… namely in the berthroom, with Megatron and his newest favourite fantasy of Starscream sandwiched and moaning between them…

Prowl clicked his vocalizer disapprovingly. Optimus Prime flinched slightly and sat up straight again, clearing his processor from pleasant dreams.

“There are developments in Tarn; Galvatron has met with Hot Rod and they were seen together increasingly often. At the same time my agent reports that he is losing his influence on Hot Rod. The situation can lead to unwanted scenarios.”

Pleasant fantasies firmly pushed to the background, Optimus Prime focused on his minister of interior. Galvatron’s and Hot Rod’s designations were enough to put him into a bad mood separately and both of them, together was even worse.

“What is Galvatron doing?”

Prowl’s rare grimace was telling on his generally emotionless façade.

“The same he does every time. He has moderate success in Tarn and we are monitoring the situation, but Hot Rod’s involvement is exacerbating the seriousness.”

“Megatron said he would… _set his brother right_ this time.”

“The Lord High Protector has scheduled a personal inspection of the Tarn garrison in the next decaorn.”

“Good. In the meanwhile set a new agent on Hot Rod.”

Prowl nodded an affirmative but the slight frown remained on his brow-ridge.

“Lord Megatron’s brother would need a more permanent solution.”

“I know, Prowl. But Megatron won’t let me act more harshly against him. Galvatron – whether I like him or not – is his half-brother and he feels responsible for him.”

“He has to keep the laws of the state like all mechs.”

“Well. He does that. So far we couldn’t prove that he’s done more than talking and that’s not illegal.”

“Because the evidence was deliberately destroyed at least twice and accidentally another time and the culprits could always be connected to the military.”

“Galvatron is popular in the military even without Megatron’s influence or intervention.”

Optimus Prime’s tone acquired a slight, hard edge. Prowl was just doing his job, he knew, but Megatron was off limits for any civilian authorities except his own and the Interior Minister knew it of course. Galvatron was a thorn in their sides, true, an annoying one that could in time be dangerous, but dealing with him was delicate matter. Prowl nodded once, sharply to signal his acquiescence to the Lord Prime.

“We will see what happens now that Galvatron actually speaks out against the Lord High Protector.”

“Megs will beat the slag out of him…?” – Behind the facemask, his lipplates twitched in a smirk. Prowl only glanced back disapprovingly.

“Physical violence is not a solution. Galvatron is not likely to change his processor because of it.”

“Convincing him never worked either… so why not?”

Prowl held his doorwings from flaring disapprovingly. The Praxian has never approved the twin rulers’ more aggressive streaks that sometimes disregarded laws and customs alike, but he knew that he had no basis to condemn them for it. After all, they were above the law in many respects, considering that they were the ones making them. The Senate could advise the rulers and even veto them sometimes, but only when they were acting all together – which, Prowl knew was about as likely as Galvatron singing a hymn to the Prime. As for the mechs of the planet… for them, Megatron and Optimus Prime were nearly in the league of Primus and anything they did or decreed was accepted with praises and adulation. They were simply so effective a team and brought the planet to such heights of prosperity that mechs believed that they simply couldn’t act wrong. 

“I will still have to act according to security protocols.”

“Of course. Who will you put on the case?”

“Jazz.” – the designation was said somewhat defiantly, as Prowl knew that the devious spec ops commander could and would outsmart Megatron’s rarely subtle mechs in information-gathering – meaning that if Galvatron did something outright illegal, he would be caught in it and this time put to justice.

Optimus’s slight smirk told Prowl that the Lord Prime understood that as well.

“If you feel the need…” – his gesture signalled a go-ahead to Prowl, which he acknowledged with a nod.

“You might want to notify the Lord High Protector about it.”

Optimus Prime’s smirk widened and he nodded. Ohh, he would do that. If Prowl felt it necessary to openly announce his intentions, he must be extremely serious about it. Not that he was against solving the Galvatron-problem for good, even if it was not to Megatron’s liking. If anything he felt a tiny bit sorry for the mech, who had no idea that Prowl, Jazz and Megs, some of the most dangerous mechs in the empire, were all after him. 

But just a little.

-o-o-o-

With Lord Megatron gone, there was no reason for Skyraider to go to the inner part of the Palace. He was no noble in this world, no courtier, he had no real rank – just a politically sensitive scientist, who was still considered if not dangerous, but at least suspicious. Of course Red Alert considered nearly every mech suspicious, so it wasn’t personal… but still existed. He was sure that if he ever tried to leave the Palace, he’d be followed, if not brought back. The knowledge of the parallel universes, the way to move among them, the nature of the counterparts for some of the better-known ministers – and the Lord Prime himself – was not something for the public. In fact, Starscream was surprised at first that he wasn’t quietly silenced in a final way… though this world was far more normal and lawful than his own, there were some mechs – the Lord High Protector among them – who would never hesitate to remove a potential danger-source for good.

But it didn’t mean that he couldn’t watch. This Prime, unlike the one he had known, didn’t sit all orns on his throne within his fortified and securely enclosed chambers, disgustingly decorated with deactivated mechs, fearing an assassination from his own underlings. This Prime went out and interacted with mechs, be them nobles, courtiers, guards or even servants. He wasn’t weak or a peacenik, not in the least – Starscream saw him returning from the portal after finishing off the _other_ Prime and knew how hard that was – his own Megatron couldn’t manage it for decavorns and not for lack of trying. This Prime was noble and gentle, every bit of the head of state that he was; but he had a titanium backstrut and if angered, attacked or threatened, he would shed the peaceful-civilian-calm attitude so fast the others couldn’t even blink.

And Megatron was the same, or even more so, since he didn’t even bother with the civilian façade. They were truly a matching pair for the quietly observing Seeker, from the throne room to the streets of Iacon, till the rare battlefields – and even in the berth. Ohh, their stories were not a secret, not for anymech in the Palace and not even for the public. Stories that made him blush, stories that made him stare, stories that made him quake in his thrusters or heat under his panels… and they were all true, they didn’t need stories made up about them, because they were kinkiest than most mechs’ imaginations. And still famous and adored and respected all over Cybertron, which frankly was beyond his understanding…

But even with all those darker stories, they were not frightening, the rumours, even the most extreme ones didn’t make Starscream quail inside and recall torture he started to forget. For one thing their… _guests_ had always left their berth alive, satisfied, their slight injuries fixed, properly compensated and praising them openly afterwards. It was such a strange mixture of fully consensual, kinky practices and a completely one-sided dominance display, Starscream couldn’t even think of anything similar from his own experiences.

He was in a small lounge now, sitting with a datapad in an overlarge, overstuffed sofa, tucked into a corner, ostensibly reading up on the astronomy of this universe… but in fact he was covertly watching the unlikely scenario in front of him. The Lord Prime, ruler of Cybertron, the almost Primus-like high priest of the planet was telling lewd jokes to a couple of servants who were holding on to their cleaning supplies, trying not to drop them as they laughed so hard, one of them even started to dab tears from scrunched –up blue optics. He was towering over them all, but used his stature as an element in the joke, mock-threateningly, exaggerated so much that none of the servants mistook it for a real threat. 

In front of Starscream’s disbelieving optics he went as far as pinching the aft of a small, blue mech, who swatted the servo bigger than his whole head away casually, giggling and without any shred of fear, of retaliation, of punishment… they were all giving him respectful bows when he arrived, the Seeker has seen them silently and obediently giving way to him in other occasions - but once he initiated the informal context, the servants were going with him as easily as he was one of them. Which, he most definitely wasn’t. With the Lord High Protector away for awhile, the Lord Prime was… well, he certainly wasn’t lonely, but leaving his chambers more and interacting with simple mechs a lot. 

And Starscream watched it all, covertly, whenever he could, though he knew it wasn’t really a secret and Red Alert, or whomever were watching the monitors would eventually report it to the Lord Prime. It wasn’t like he was spying after all. He was merely observing the Lord Prime’s public façade and attitude. Like when he attended the Seekers’ festival a few orns back… it was fascinating to watch and not just the fliers. The Lord Prime so obviously had a thing for wings, it was hard to even miss. Starscream saw his optics smolder, his vents working higher than the ambient temperature would call for and that great frame twitch in oh-so-telling motions.

And their optics occasionally met. A covertly watching, observing one and a knowing, understanding and wanting pair. It still made Skyraider self-conscious and hide, turn away from that intense gaze. That smoldering intensity was what made him uneasy, that was the most similar to that other Prime, his Master, his tormentor… though he had red and these were blue, their fire, the power burning in them was so much the same, the difference in colour hardly even registered. Starscream held the datapad higher, to hide behind it as the murmur of voices and the servants’ giggles silenced and his deep laughter rolled away like thunder. He felt the Lord Prime’s presence lounging still there, it was the others who departed, sensing his wish to do so. 

“It’s not a sin to watch me.”

Starscream had known some orn he would be called out on it, he really did. He just hoped it was not yet. Apparently he was wrong. But it would be highly improper not to answer…

“I’m… sorry…” – his raspy vocalizer felt too tight for sounds.

The larger frame of the Prime came closer, towering over his, and a trembling started up in the Seeker’s tank. But before he would panic, Optimus Prime sat in a comfortable armchair, making his large stature look smaller, like he knew he would have to. 

“No need. I understand.” – The red-blue frame shifted and settled back, lounging comfortably on his seat – “After all, I’m watching you too.”

Startled blue optics snapped up to a smirking face. The shivering stopped and Starscream ex-vented heavily, lowering the datapad to his lap. 

“I know.”

Blue optics examined him thoughtfully, the Prime comfortable with the silence stretching between them. White wings shifted uneasily and Starscream held onto the datapad like it was an anchor.

“Are you all right with it? I can’t tell I’ll completely stop if you say no, but I’ll try to be more covert about it.”

Starscream’s lips twitched in a ghost of a smile at the honesty.

“I’m getting used to it, Lord Prime.”

“No need for the Lord slag when we are in private. You don’t call my brother Lord when he’s with you.”

Starscream felt tendrils of nervousness wounding around his spark. Was he…?

“No, I haven’t changed my processor. He can visit you whenever he wants to. Me watching you has nothing to do with jealousy.”

Though Starscream felt that declaration to be false a bit, he was so not going to call out the Lord Prime on it. So he continued to sit there quietly, allowing the Prime to go on.

“Well, not that kind of jealousy anyhow.”

The smirk was audible in his tone and Starscream looked up perplexed.

“What do you mean…?”

“You know, I occasionally envy my bondmate. He doesn’t have to play a diplomat and put up with mechs he doesn’t like. He gets to travel far more than me. When he is fed up by the court, he just leaves and even gets praised for being no-nonsense and how it fits to a warrior and whatnot. And… though we almost never interface separately… these orns he does have access to a mech I also find… intriguing.”

Ohh. The normally calm, deep voice became almost wishful by the end.

“I… noticed…” – Starscream took a deep invent, calming himself as much as he was able – “B-but… I don’t know why you would be… interested in me. I mean… there is my counterpart here and …”

“… and I haven’t showed the slightest interest towards him, right?”

Starscream nodded, wings kept carefully polite. This one could read wings…

“Starscream and I… have a history. When I became a Prime, nearly everyone bugged me to bond with the Winglord and thereby procure the loyalty of Vos. At the time Cybertron wasn’t as unified as it is now. No matter that I only ever expressed interest in and a wish to bond with my brother, no matter that Starscream was, to say at least hesitant and leaning heavily towards his shuttle friend, they tried to push us together. It was distasteful, I must say, and quickly destroyed any affinity we might have had towards each other otherwise.”

Optimus Prime stopped, sighing a little ex-vent out, his great frame shifting in the armchair. 

“There was real interest there, make no mistake. But neither of us reacts well to being pushed or coerced. The whole affair was a complicated mess. I wanted none other than Megatron, Starscream wanted no bond that would interfere with his freedom and expeditions, Megs was furious with everyone and I must tell you a newly anointed Lord Protector’s anger is something to behold.”

Starscream smiled slightly at the rumbling voice as the Prime told the story. They were surprisingly alone, nomech bothering them and the Seeker was grateful for this opportunity. 

“Since then we became friends and we work together quite well – but the affinity was gone and we never tried to warm up this relationship. Starscream is happy with his Trine and Skyfire and I am more than happy with my bondmate.”

Suddenly the blue optics started to smolder and spear him with an intensity Starscream found… queerly heating him up under his armour. 

“Your arrival… has changed things. You awakened emotions in me that Starscream used to cause and I know it affects Megatron too. It is not just… _pity_ that made him offer you solace. I would have offered it too, if not for the _unfortunate_ background you have.” – Optimus Prime paused a bit, shifting closer to the wide-opticked, apparently frozen – but not afraid or terrified - Starscream – “Long story short… if you ever want to go further than watching, I’m game to try. On your terms even.”

“I don’t know… it’s a bit sudden.” – Starscream bit his lipplates, partly to ascertain he was not having a queer dream, partly because he was just shocked – “I do feel… something, I haven’t been able to quantify, but I still feel… I’m sorry if it is impolite, but… uncomfortable. Though less so than at first.”

At least these orns he was able to watch the Prime without the deep-set fears surfacing continuously. He still flinched at sudden movements and the towering frame was casting dark shadows on him, but Starscream was aware of the improvement. From the look of him, the Prime was too. 

“Take your time. Observe all you want to. I’m nothing like _that_ monster and I’ll prove it to you one orn if you let me.”

Starscream smiled. It was a weak smile, hesitant, but still more than anything before. When Optimus Prime stood to leave and they exchanged polite pleasantries, he was surprised to discover that he did want to give the large mech his chance to prove himself. It was strange to be so drawn to the one he should be afraid of, but Starscream has accepted the strange quirks of fate that seemed to throw him from one situation to another and take them in stead. This one, at least seemed to be less painful than most. 

Besides… rather than losing Megatron _again_ , he would take them both if needed.

-o-o-o-

Hot Rod hated the stupid secrecy, the dark, dank underground chambers, the mechs who usually came to them and the overly dramatic speeches Galvatron seemed to spout. He swore for the tenth time that he would never come again. It was utterly ridiculous, completely stupid and he was NOT interested in Galvatron the very least. Absolutely, fragging not interested. Despite of spending so many night cycles together in the mech’s berth. But that was just fragging, wasn’t it? It wasn’t like he agreed with… anything really, the mech droned on about in these boring meetings. The topic still made him vaguely afraid and uncomfortable. Hot Rod definitely didn’t think himself as a rebelling type.

The mechs who usually came to these meetings appeared to be a suspicious sort – all shady characters, all seemingly dissatisfied with the rule of the Prime and the Lord Protector, but Hot Rod had a distinct feeling that they only wanted more profit, more riches and of course more power and influence on the rulers. He certainly never found a good companion among them who would be content to have a cube somewhere and talk, race or dance. They were so serious all the time, like they didn’t know what fun was. Hot Rod didn’t want to become like them, but his circle of friends were woefully small these orns.

“Hi me mech!”

The cheerful voice broke his dark thoughts and the soft murmur of the chamber too. Hot Rod lifted his helm and stared the smaller mech in front of him, not expecting anything or any mech to behave differently from the rest and in his gloomy mood not quite believing that it would happen for a few kliks. The slightly smaller and blue-white mech approached him while he was busy feeling sorry for himself and stood there smiling, waiting while Hot Rod collected his thoughts.

“Umm... hello. Who are you? I haven’t seen you here yet.”

“Name’s Blues. This is my first time here. I’m excited ta hear what Galvatron has ta say!”

The mech appeared to have a cheerful expression pasted on his faceplates for good and it was enough for the half-depressed Hot Rod to find him appealing. He was also exuberantly bouncing on his pedes that made him smile and consider the mech to his liking.

“Well… uhhh… he’s not that interesting lately…”

“Really?” – optics widened as the smaller, black and blue mech looked back at him – “I heard he talks a good talk. I wanna hear what he says about the system, I was told he is dissatisfied with how things go on Cybertron!”

“He… he certainly does. Sometimes I think he goes a bit too far.”

“An’ who might ya be?”

“I’m Hot Rod.”

“A supporter or just interested?”

“I’m… you know, I’m not sure. The company here is far too serious for me most of the time.”

The smaller mech laughed easily and playfully punched Hot Rod’s arm. His good mood was contagious, especially in the stiff atmosphere of the meeting.

“I see ya’re my type! Interested in a cube an’ some music later?”

“Sure!”

Hot Rod felt that the whole, boring meeting just became much more bearable. Even with Galvatron working himself up to a near rage with his own speech that had many in the audience murmur and shift uneasily around them. They left together and Hot Rod was glad that Galvatron seemed to be bogged down by some of those mechs and unable to just commandeer him like he so often did. He wanted to spend the rest of the cycle with his new friend.

“He’s kinda spirited, ain’t he?”

“You have no idea…”

“Ya know him? I mean personally?”

“I… a little. He seems to like me, though it is… kinda overbearing sometimes.”

The smaller mech gave him a look that Hot Rod couldn’t identify, but continued in a cheerful manner.

“So… what brought ya to his circles? I take it ya have some… problems with the present order?”

“What? Me? No!”

“Come on, ma mech, you were there. We both were. It wasn’t like we went to a performance for his looks or whatnot.”

“No, that’s… I mean, he practically dragged me to this.”

Blues lifted a somewhat disbelieving brow plate and Hot Rod blushed. He hoped that the deepening darkness of the night cycle hid it as they walked on the streets towards the club Blues promised to be exceptionally good.

“Well… it was like that at first. I mean he’s kinda… we’re… ummm, you know.”

“Ohh… ohh! You two are… an item?”

“Umm… yeah. But nothing serious! Just… just a good frag. Sometimes.”

The smaller mech looked him over with a smirk and Hot Rod blushed again. Fragging Galvatron, making him embarrassed over those few frags… it really wasn’t like he actually _liked_ the mech! It was just… a draw which he didn’t quite understand.

“Soooo… ya aren’t exclusive, are ya?”

“What? No! Definitely not!”

“Let’s drink to that!”

They found the club and it was blessedly loud, crowded and the flashing lights comfortably hiding his embarrassment. Hot Rod felt much better after a cube, easily conversing with the smaller mech, who, as he learned was a low-level official, barred from advancement because of what he said was the single most snobbish and close-minded boss. He went to Galvatron’s speech to hear what the mech was saying about the caste system and was quite dissatisfied to hear nothing about it.

“I mean he’s talking a brave talk about the Lord High Protector, but it doesn’t really interest me personally. I would be more interested if any mech would take on the matter of civilian system. It’s not perfect either, far from it. But I guess a warframe won’t be interested in us, simple civil servants.”

Hot Rod had a little trouble following him after the third cube, but the mech was right and he was funny, when not talking about Galvatron. So he felt it was right to assure him of his help.

“I’ll mention it to Galvatron next time we meet, you can be sure!”

“He can gain more followers if he is not restricting himself to military matters.”

“S-sure, you’re r-right! Umm…”

Hot Rod felt the club gently swaying around him and words deserted him momentarily. His companion seemed to realize too that the time for serious topics was gone and suggested a dance to work out some of the overcharge. They danced to the throbbing music under the coloured lights and laughed about the moves Hot Rod invented on the spot, drank some more high-grade and pretty soon the flame-coloured mech was plastered so much that Blues had to call a transport to take him home. Though Hot Rod was sure they had interfaced, the smaller mech wasn’t in his berth the next day cycle, leaving only his comm code behind.

It was still the best night cycle he had for awhile. No overbearing warframes, no demands, no seriousness and over-the-top kinks. Just an easygoing, good-looking mech, fun, drink and a normal interface.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ummm... no, 'Blues' is of course not an OC. I think the name is a dead giveaway. :-)


	5. Cotangent

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got stuck with the plot,so decided to write more porn. Sometimes it is justifiable. Like in this fic. :-)
> 
> I _think_ the Dead End was in Polyhex. If not... please correct me in a comment?

Optimus didn’t delude himself that he could sneak out of the Palace unnoticed and without an escort. Ironhide and Red Alert were just too good at their job of ensuring his safety for that – not to mention Megatron would probably smelt them alive if they let him. Besides, he was just too conspicuous to be able to sneak with any sort of a hope for success. Therefore when he wanted to go out alone, he just said so to his regular guards, left them at the Palace exit to stare after him forlornly, flicked on a little holoemitter for disguise… and was satisfied that any tail he got afterwards was not discreet and not immediately visible. After all he had no problems with being safe, and if his invisible escort didn’t interfere with whatever he wanted to do, then it was all right with him.

Like this time, when he wanted a solitary drive to clear his processors after the lengthy and complicated talks with the Camien delegation for what seemed no end in immediate sight. Megatron was away, the lucky fragger doing whatever he planned to finally contain his brother, the Palace was uncomfortably full of stiff and ceremony-loving Camiens, trying to capitalize his time and even the Seeker he wanted to watch (and eventually maybe court) was off-planet with Skyfire on a long trip planned to last nearly a vorn. While Optimus thoroughly applauded the deeply hurt Seeker finding new friends and start to feel comfortable again, it left him with very little exciting to do. But the drive through Iacon was also long and after sitting several breems in a traffic jam surrounded by impatient cars of every description, giving him no attention or notice whatsoever, an attitude he definitely wasn’t used to, he nearly gave up the whole thing. When the drizzling, fortunately weakly acidic rain started to fall he was thoroughly fed up. It wasn’t what he had in processor when he left the Palace for a solitary drive, that was for sure.

At the first opportunity he turned off at the intersection onto an empty road, not even checking where it led. Of course he should have known that it wasn’t empty by accident… in a mere breem he was hopelessly lost among erroneously mapped, badly signposted and completely run-down industrial buildings, interspersed with half-ruined housing blocks he was sure nomech would want to live in, but which still looked as though some did. He would have to check about the area-development after he returned to the Palace, a place like this shouldn’t exist in Iacon… especially with the lot of dirt on and off the street that should have been cleaned up long ago by the look of it. He had city services for this sort of thing! Optimus wanted nothing else more than to drive on tiptoes on the incredibly dirty road, much as it was impossible. He scowled and swerved sharply to avoid a disgusting-looking, oily puddle in the middle of the street…

… and predictably skidded on the already wet surface. The absolute ruler of the planet, the High Priest of Primus cursed foully – he blamed Megatron for knowing such expressions - as he slid into a small side-street, barely big enough for his alt mode and filled with mainly heaps of rubble and stopped before he hit the wall. He was fed up, itched from the rain, and he didn’t have the patience to try and inch his way out backwards from the narrow space… what was that? The sound of gunfire from the other end of the street made him stand up quickly and slip into alert mode. Able to see now over the rubbish heaps, Optimus saw a few mechs in an obvious firefight. One was down and bleeding energon all over the street while three others were converging on a fourth, all of them wielding firearms. Optimus scowled unhappily and called his still invisible escort, but before they could do anything, a trio of the city enforcers arrived to the scene.

“Weapons down, now!”

The amplified voice brooked no opposition and two of the three attackers did drop their weapons. The third though, turned it towards the Enforcers and shot at one of them, missed and was quickly collapsing into his alt mode straight away, trying to escape. He didn’t get far. The enforcers and Optimus’s guards, also wearing their special forces badge caught him and the others, ending the dangerous situation efficiently in a breem. 

“You too! Weapons down!”

Optimus absolutely didn’t think that it was said to him. He had never been spoken to in this manner in his whole function, certainly not since he was the Prime. So he hasn’t put away his own blaster, the one Megatron commissioned for him with all the special functions and extra firepower… and he was consequently quite surprised when the enforcers turned on him like one and he was almost tackled to the ground. His escort barely managed to stop the Enforcers from touching him – they knew that it would make him angry – while the dirty white mech nearly slipped away again.

“Stop it! He is **The Prime** , you idiots!”

Optimus sighed and deactivated the disguising holoemitter, letting his real form, colours and markings show. Apparently his solitary drive was at an unexpected end. Much as he didn’t mind it, what with the rain and traffic, it was still annoying. The enforcers quickly lowered their weapons once his ID went through and bowed a bit nervously. The gangsters also looked frightened… except the white one, who stared back defiantly. Well, that was unusual, Optimus mused, while his escort and the enforcers sorted out the situation.

“L-lord Prime, Sir…” – Optimus gave points for the ranking enforcer, since his voice barely trembled – “… may we take these thugs away? Did any of them harmed you?”

“No harm was done.” – he waved them off. They were in enough trouble for shooting in the city, maybe with illegal weapons and who knows what else a search would find out about them. He pointed to the whitish mech who still looked defiant, but his unusual helm fins twitched in an anxious-looking movement – “But I want to know his designation first.”

The mech straightened up more as much as his cuffed servos allowed and answered in a strong voice.

“I am Drift.”

“Show some respect, you idiot!”

Optimus waved off the overeager enforcer and smirked. Maybe the outing wasn’t a complete disaster, after all.

“Drift, hmmm? Are you from Iacon?”

He thought he detected an accent, masked and hidden, but vaguely familiar, like he’d heard something like it before…

“Polyhex.” – came the court answer with a scowl.

Yes, it was similar to how Jazz spoke when he wasn’t using one of his myriad of disguises. Optimus nodded, pleased with himself and was already planning. His smirk contained just a tiny grain of something dangerous as he spoke up.

“Well then, Drift from Polyhex… where would you rather go, with these mechs of the law to stand before a court… or with me to the Palace?”

The first sign of fear flickered in the blue optics, but the white mech stood his ground, surprise, anxiousness and worry fighting in his stance and his open, expressive face. Optimus was sure that it wasn’t fear of _him_ specifically and he approved of that; too many mechs feared him or his office – and his overprotective brother too – and to find one who didn’t was a refreshing surprise. No, the mech was afraid more of the enforcers than the unknown that Optimus’s offer was. It could be that he was a hardened criminal who had something to fear the law – but he didn’t look like one and Optimus Prime trusted his instincts about mechs. His optics dimmed in thought, but the mech hesitantly nodded slowly.

“But Lord Prime…! He’s… he’s…”

“I am taking over responsibility for this mech, Enforcer…?”

“Lockdown, Sir.”

“Enforcer Lockdown, then. You may go and deal with the rest.”

His escort at least wasn’t so surprised. While it was usually Megatron, who picked up their, khmmm, entertainment, it has happened before that Optimus got the hots for a mech he found somewhere and his brother went with it. They fell into formation around the two mechs and started back to the Palace.

_::Brother? Am I interrupting something terribly important, sneaky or dangerous that would preclude you returning for a night?::_

_::Optimus. No, no and no. What’re you up to? Miss some wings already?::_

_::Noooo… I found something even better than wings. Who’s that mech that you have for the law-side of things?::_

Optimus could almost imagine the slowly raising brow plates on his brother’s face. His answering tone in the comm was suddenly much deeper and interested.

_::Found somemech so soon? I can be back in three joors.::_

_::He might take that long to clean up. Found him in a place…. Ugh.::_

_::Well. Don’t start anything until I get back...::_

_::I won’t.::_

His tone was mischievous, Optimus knew, but he was already looking forward to playing with the white mech. Slender but powerful speedster model with strangely alluring audials fins – he wanted to find out if they were as sensitive as they looked. If he said yes of course, but Optimus didn’t think that he wouldn’t. He looked the kind of mech to enjoy challenges and not be afraid of going into unknown situations.


	6. History

Whem Megatron landed on the wide balcony of their chambers, he was not surprised to find Optimus already straining there, barely waiting for him to land and transform before grabbing an arm and drag him inside. After all, his brother always loved when he returned from a trip and they could, ahem, reconnect. And though Optimus usually showed his Primely façade to the public, Megatron knew just how excited he could be when he was anticipating something enjoyable. But still, Optimus hurriedly dragged him through the huge room and out to the corridor, Megatron following him a little bemused and more amused.

“Slow down… we have the whole night, Optimus.”

“No, you must see this!” – Optimus snickered and Megatron lifted a brow plate – “Or, rather hear.”

“Hear what…?”

“Soon…”

If he saw it right, even some of the guards posted on the corridor were smirking, while trying to keep a straight façade… and soon Megatron understood it too. As they neared the lower med center of the Palace, with Optimus first, still dragging him along, he too started to hear it indeed. 

Shouting. A lot of it with impressive voice levels. Megatron frowned. Impressive vocabulary too, encompassing several dialects and expressions from the docks and the mines. Mixed with some colourful Vosian curses. And was that a Karelian blood-insult?

“Is it…?”

“Yeah, Ratchet.” – Optimus snickered again – “He’s been at it for nearly a joor now.”

The guard standing at stiff attention by the med-center door was trying valiantly to hide the red on his faceplate and the fact that he was memorizing the more outlandish curses Ratchet aired inside, easily surpassing the generous soundproofing in place everywhere in the Palace. Optimus hoped that the Camiens weren’t around to be scandalized, but even if they did it was worth to hear. Megatron knew that the medic could and sometimes did outcurse veteran gladiators, but it was still an impressive performance. Though he wondered what caused it…

“Who is the poor spark on the receiving end?”

Because it was very often one of them after Ratchet had to patch them up after a spar. Fight. Frag. Or all of those.

“Ohhh, that’s the best thing…!” – Optimus looked downright gleeful which, in Megatron’s opinion was a spectacularly hot look on him – “The mech I picked up earlier. Apparently he and Ratchet had an… ummm… _history_.”

Megatron tore his attention from his brother’s looks and focused on his words. Then he frowned. The shouting from inside if anything, intensified. The medic always defied expectations and habitually did impossible things; like surpassing any existing design specifications Cybertronians had for voice levels. Starscream said so and he should know; the Seeker stretched the same laws.

“A history? Are they… involved?”

“I don’t think so. Not with the things Ratchet yells at that poor mech.” – Optimus’s tone was not apologetic in the very least. He was thoroughly enjoying the performance.

“Then what kind of history?”

Optimus shrugged a little and listened to the yelled curses that appeared to repeat themselves, signalling the impending end of the rant.

“Something like saving his life? I’m not sure. I can’t even translate some of that.” 

“Who, the mech? How did you call, him, Drift?”

“No, no… I think Ratchet saved his life. Something about second chances and the like. And yeah, it’s Drift. I like his designation.” 

“You seem.. eager, brother.” – Megatron laughed.

“I am! You all left me here with stick-in-their-aft Camiens and now I found a mech I just… _want_.”

The shouting was now definitely lowering in volume, to the point they barely understood the words now, though Ratchet was still carrying on. It was an impressive rant even by the medic’s high standards. Megatron decided to find out exactly what history he had with the new mech – it wouldn’t do to create avoidable problems with the Palace staff. 

“I know that look.” – Optimus Prime pouted and the guard nearby had to collect all his wits not to freak out at the sight – “But he’s already signed your contract. Don’t you want him?”

“Well. I have yet to see the mech in the metal…. But you have a good taste, so…”

“So, nothing. Ratchet can shout all he wants to, but the mech is willing and said so in the contract that he has no significant other in any way or form.”

Well, at least that was alleviating some of his misgivings. 

“Okay, let’s go then. Ratchet is already repeating himself.”

The guard opened the door for them – looking rather relieved – and the twin rulers of the planet peeked in by the doorframe to watch the situation like two miscreant younglings. Megatron took in the mech Optimus found as he was sitting on a med-berth, looking more than a bit shocked and totally cowed – a look Megatron didn’t blame him for in the slightest. He had been on the receiving end of some spectacular Ratchet-rants and every mech agreed that they were surpassing the most extreme of the Starscream-rants (formerly representing a benchmark in the Palace) and well able to put the fear of Primus (and Unicron with all the Thirteen) into one’s spark. Actually, the white mech was holding up fairly well. Considering.

He also looked good, Megatron had to admit. Already past the cleanup and retouch phase, slim but powerful frame was brilliant, pearly white, stark black and only a few splashes of colour to spice up what could have been as boring as Prowl – but was in fact sleek, exciting and optic-catching. And Optimus was right, those long, pointed audials fins just begged to be grabbed. Fondled. See how they blushed. Next glance was to the medic and Megatron soon shrugged and let his initial misgivings go – Ratchet was looking still livid, but if he had no ties, legal or otherwise to the white mech, then he would not pry into their… history.

“He can go!” – Ratchet snarled towards them, displaying his usual disrespect for authority – “He’s _clean_ …” – there was an unusual stress on the word, like he meant more than the usual cleanliness from viruses or malware – “…and healthy. He can be fragged to the next vorn for all I care.”

Megatron frowned and he perceived that even Optimus’s field cooled down a bit. It wasn’t like Ratchet to be so… touchy. He stepped closer right as the white mech slid down from the med-berth to stand on strong legs, optics wide and curious, and asked the CMO.

“Is there a problem?”

“Slagging no!”

“No problem. Ratchet just gave me a warning not to frag up… umm, again.”

Megatron glanced at Optimus, a bit ready to give up the whole thing, but letting him decide it. But Optimus’s optics were back to bright and smoldering, so…

”Let’s go then.”

He approved of the mech not quaking in his armour for walking between the rulers of the planet, either of them nearly twice his size and even more in mass. But the white mech had backstrut and only a few nervous twitches of his audials betrayed that he wasn’t as calm as he showed. 

“What do you do?”

“Shooting mechs, apparently...”

Optimus grinned at him unapologetically as Megatron put up a brow plate.

“Shooting? Enforcer? Military?”

“The other end of the gun, actually…” – Drift dared to speak up, another point to his favour – “I’m a merc. I catch criminals that enforcers can’t… or won’t.”

“I see.”

It was at least a respectable profession, Megatron conceded. When he heard that Optimus got his mech from the enforcers, he was ready to see a hardened criminal or even worse.

“Here.” – he pressed a high-grade cube into black servos once they arrived – “while here, you may eat or drink anything on the tables. When you have an unoccupied mouth, that is.”

He watched interestedly the mech blush up till the tip of his finials and Optimus’s optics smolder blue fire with satisfaction. They weren’t here for… chitchat. Megatron herded them all towards the seating area, where he unceremoniously pushed the white mech onto Optimus’s lap and he sat beside them. His brother’s servos were already roaming on white plating, discovering the interesting red-white abdominals and following the generous thigh-curves and he barely gave the mech time to swallow a mouthful of his drink before claiming his mouth too for a deep, dominating kiss. Megatron watched them play for a few kliks, since he was not as taken with the mech as his brother - though the display certainly raised his core temperature too. 

Drift suddenly turned, freed his legs from large servos, dropped his cube onto the ground carelessly and straddled Optimus’s lap, fully facing him now. He seemed to enjoy the kissing too and soon they appeared to be fused by the lips, fighting a glossa battle. Megatron smirked a little and got hold of the generous hips and aft, drawing closer. The metal was already very warm and squirming deliciously under his digits, especially when his clawtips found the seams. Drift bent forward, offering his backside while rubbing also on Optimus’s lap, the mech is a picture of submission and… but no, he said he was a merc, a bounty hunter and not a whore. For a klik Megatron saw… almost professionalism on the way he presented himself, the thing they both hated for different reasons. But then, he might just be a mech with more experience than most - it wouldn’t be impossible with a frame this delicious and hot. 

Because he was hot, Megatron had to admit. The way he writhed on Optimus’s lap… it made his energon boil in short order. His brothers too, by the look of it, as the elaborate red-blue spike was already out, straining between the white thighs, twitching as Drift deliberately brought them closer and held it within their grip, moving slowly up and down, the biolights blinking fast as they were excited… Optimus groaned into their kiss, a deep, sonorous sound and his vents vent to full blown. Megatron reached between those strong thighs to rub on the still closed panel and Drift obediently opened it, presenting his dripping valve. He looked ready all right but Megatron still preferred to test that readiness. It wouldn’t do to break a toy on the first go.

But the hot valve eagerly swallowed two of his digits, its red-white rim almost sucking them into the tight, wet heat… Megatron rubbed the swollen, red outer nub too with his thumb and the mech reacted with a moan into Optimus’s mouth and a fresh gush of slick, hot lubricants, staining his servo. He was ready all right, but the silver mech still pumped his digits a few times, enjoying as the calipers fluttered around them. Yes, Optimus choose well… he could hardly wait to feel that valve around his length. With a tiny little regret he pulled out lubricant soaked digits and Drift writhed sinuously, rubbing his valve rim on Optimus’s spike, before he was summarily raised altogether – two sets of strong servos having no problem with the light speedster – and lowered him onto the straining spike.

“Ooooohhhhh…”

Ready or not, the huge spike slowly impaling him got a strong reaction from the white mech. Drift threw his helm back, tearing it from the kiss to be able to vocalize a sparkfelt moan of pleasure-pain as he was stretched wider open than mere digits ever could. But he didn’t stop, nor did he hesitate. Letting the larger mechs to maneuver him he sank down on the Prime’s spike, engulfing it completely within his eager, hot valve. Megatron drank in eagerly the expression of pure bliss on his brother’s face and his spark thrived on it – Optimus let him feel the sheer bliss through their bond and Megatron groaned too. Tight but eager, scorching hot but deliciously wet, fluttering calipers staccatoing around them, interspersed by tiny zings of charge from the imbedded nodes… if there was a perfect valve, then they might have just found it. 

The white mech rolled his hips a bit, changing the angle and elicited another round of moans from all of them. Large servos tightened on his plating, the strength almost enough to dent, but didn’t try to hurt, just helped him to move, to rise… and rise he did, the red-blue length appearing from lips of his overstretched valve, the biolights on its surface madly fluttering the scrollwork glistening in the low light… Optimus let his helm fall back to the back of the sofa, open mouth panting out scorching heat and he let Megatron and Drift do all the moving, his servos on the speedster’s hip gripping more to anchor himself into reality than to do anything on his own. Megatron rarely ever saw his brother let go and immerse himself into pleasure so completely – most often just when they were spark-merging and it caused a tiny zing of jealousy to flash through him. But he waved it away immediately. He was not going to envy this pleasure from Optimus – after all he could also taste it in the next round. 

Drift moved in his own pattern, rising, dropping and rolling his hips and Megatron only helped to provide strength – and feel the pleasure of them second-servo – the white mech was just too good at this, almost too perfect. Optimus appeared to be nearly delirious with pleasure and close to his climax… but the white mech has slowed down a bit when he felt it, not letting him to go over just yet, drawing out the pleasure for longer enjoyment. Smoldering blue optics peered out from nearly shut lids and Optimus’s mouth twitched to a pout… or rather he tried to, but utterly failed. Megatron laughed as he forced the smaller mech down sharply, impaling him on his brother’s spike. Drift got the meaning to, and did something with his calipers that sent Optimus to an immediate, howling overload. Streams of transfluid burst from between his shaft and the tautly stretched valve lips, drenching their thighs and the sofa underneath. Drift went over too at that, his shout too garbled to be anything understandable, slumping forward onto Optimus’s also limp frame.

“Huhh…” 

Megatron himself wasn’t fully coherent, he knew, albeit he only got the backlash of Optimus’s overload – but it was so strong, so deep, it nearly made him follow them into climax. As it was though… his spike needed some relief soon. 

Too bad both his berthmates were momentarily out cold. Or hot. Whatever.


	7. A mech can dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was pretty much stuck plotwise with Hot Rod, and that was the reason why I went off on a tangent with Drift and unashamed, pure porn. But it has unexpectedly gave me ideas plotwise too, so I might be able to connect this porn-y side-thread with the main action. 
> 
> Also, the mech was at first draft Blurr, so the scenes might be a tiny bit OOC for Drift. I decided to change this because Drift can later connect more with Hot Rod - and I can't really write Blurr well.

_A little warning beforehand: action is a bit darker here, though still consensual, but it involves painplay (sort of) and roughness. Nothing excessive, but it's best to warn about it._

Optimus moaned as he rose slowly from the murky depths of recharge, feeling more satisfied and comfortable than most mornings lately, alone and… well, he wasn’t alone now for sure, his spike informed him, as it was still surrounded with a twitching, wet heat, much too tight to be his brother’s… yeah, the mech he picked up from the street… Drift! As full memories loaded and he onlined fully Optimus suddenly realized why he felt so comfortable and sated. The slight weight of the mech slumped onto his frame was nothing, but it did give a pleasant warmth, especially the hot embrace of tightly wound calipers around his spike. He felt a different sort of warmth from one side and he knew before onlining his optics that Megatron was there. 

There was only one thing that somehow tickled his slowly awakening processor, something not… quite… right. Something he should worry about… a feeling of something… pointy? Something sharp tickling the underside of his jaw… dormant battle protocols roared to life and Optimus was wide awake in a klik, though not moving a nanometer. A weapon there, a blade probably, right at the seam where neck and helm joined, a tiny vulnerability nomech was supposed to even know about… how did this mech knew of it? How did he smuggle a weapon in with him, when the staff was supposed to check him thoroughly? What did he want by threatening the Prime? The questions flashed through his processor in a space of a nanoklik, but his roiling emotions awakened Megatron too.

“What’s the matter, Optimus?”

Couldn’t he see the danger, Optimus wondered, or why was his brother not acting? He didn’t dare to lift his helm, not with the weapon’s pointy end pricking into the seam – any inch would mean at least a serious injury there. Curiously, his attacker still hasn’t moved either…

“What’s wrong?”

Megatron leaned over him, his never very smiling faceplates drawn to a bemused frown. Couldn’t he see it? What was going on? Optimus decided to act. He heaved and hurled the smaller, lighter mech on top of him backwards, hissing as the sudden action abraded his spike… but at least the danger was gone and he could sit up and jump to his pedes. One servo came up to his throat and… yes, there was even a tiny drop of energon oozing down from the tip of his digit, so he wasn’t dreaming the whole thing. He had to make sure, because Megatron stared at him with brow plates high and optics bemused…

“What was that for…? Are you all right?”

“He…”

Suddenly it seemed strange and Optimus hesitantly glanced at the white mech, who flew a few meters and was just about to get up, looking and appearing groggy, scowling with discomfort, and picking himself up with an effort. There was no weapon in sight, no blade, nothing sharp or pointy… except…

“I thought he had a… weapon?”

Optimus’s servo came up again to his neck, gathering the droplet of energon on his digits, and frowned again. Megatron’s optics followed his movement and his scowl deepened. The white mech on the floor lifted his helm with its long, pointy audials flares... and Optimus felt a rare bout of sheepishness and a sudden urge to laugh uncontrollably.

“His… his audials…” – he couldn’t help it, the laughter bubbled out – “Primus, it was his audials and I thought… ha-ha… I thought he was holding a blade … ha-ha…!”

Megatron’s glance shifted to the mech’s helm and his servo lifting up to touch the items in question, his befuddlement rapidly clearing up.

“S-sorry… I threw you down, because I thought you were… attacking me!”

Optimus was still chuckling as the white mech looked resigned and grimaced while he stood up. His valve looked a bit puffy and red, no doubt thanks to the vigorous action with a large spike and its sudden, violent removal contributing to his discomfort. Optimus sighed. Truth to be told, the mech’s audials could be classified as weapons, he pondered, but the bemusement didn’t appear to be fake… and he felt that the mech was still in recharge when he threw him down. They have seen their fair share of assassins through the vorns, but to fake recharge so completely would require special training and modified systems – while Drift had neither, according to the medics doing his checks. He wouldn’t be allowed into their berthchamber if he did. 

“It was just a misunderstanding.”

“Yeah… okay. I guess…” 

Drift approached the sofa again a bit vary, a bit ostentatiously careful with his movements, but looking none the worse for being thrown across the floor… or particularly surprised by it either. Optimus pondered about that nonchalance too… it bespoke more than an average, everyorn mech; special training or a lifetime of strange experiences.

“Sorry again. Your audial was… at a sensitive place.”

Optimus offered treats to the mech, like a peace-offering and he accepted it picking up some and sitting again on the sofa between the two larger mech. He didn’t even hesitate, showing no fear or apprehension and sampled the treats nonchalantly, his slender frame curving sinuously and showing off his beauty. Megatron growled from his other side, his not-quite sated charge growing fast but Optimus also felt a faint annoyance in his field – his brother never liked cocky mechs. Or rather… he liked to put them to their place. 

“You seem awfully complacent for being thrown about.”

For a klik something strange, not quite sadness flashed in those blue optics.

“I’m being used to it.” Came the short, curt answer.

“You don’t look like the type to allow be thrown about.”

Optimus felt his brother’s suspicion grow and some of the arousal dissipating. Drift sighed and glanced at him, obviously perceiving that though it wasn’t a question, nevertheless it required an answer.

“I have always considered myself a good warrior, a swordsmech, a… sellsword really. I wandered a lot in the Empire and came across a… cult of sorts. They called themselves Knights. They hide their existence and told me that I would only be let go if I could fight my way out. There was this one Knight… well. Must say, I have never seen of any better swordsmechs than these Knights. So… yeah, I got thrown about a lot by even smaller mecha than me before I learned enough.”

That was a curious story and intriguing. A secret order of Knights, hiding in the fringes of the Empire, excelling in martial arts? One had to wonder what for… 

“They had hidden themselves before your rule and keep no contact with the rest of the universe. They didn’t conspire against anyone… just hiding.”

Still, it was worth looking into and one glance to Megatron confirmed that he agreed too. Later. But before Galvatron could potentially make an ally out of these… Knights.

“All right. Enough of Knights for now.”

Drift nodded and let himself mechhandled again. This time they made it to the berth at least where Megatron put the white mech down and nudged him to kneel in front of him, bending forward. Again, it was that same tiny suspicion that the white thighs fell apart a little too smoothly, the slender torso flattened itself to the berth too easily and spread his plush, dripping valve all too… enticingly. But it was no matter. Whether the mech was actually a whore or just a practiced sub… it was all the same now. Megatron wasn’t gentle this time. He thrust into the valve in one smooth motion, hilting his considerable length at once and yanking the white hips onto it. 

The white mech stifled a small yelp but showed no other negative reaction… even though that had to hurt, Optimus was sure. Even after a hot interface, lubricating and prepared, Megatron impaling him in such a way… it had to be at least uncomfortable. But the slender mech appeared to be a strong construction and he didn’t protest. Megatron grunted his approval… and set a brutal pace that pushed the white mech across the berth covers, servos scrabbling for purchase as his helm was pushed down to the berth as well.

Optimus watched them from the side with a little frown. He stroked his spike absentmindedly, but was mainly consent to watch, the edge of his arousal taken by the previous overload and that funny scare afterwards. Megatron has really worked Drift over, having wrung an overload already from the white mech with no end in sight for his own spike. He pushed through the clasping calipers that overload inevitably brought and that tore a small, pained grunt from the mercenary and continued to thrust into him unheeding the reaction. 

_::You don’t have to punish him. He’s done nothing wrong.::_

_::am… not..::_ Came the panting answer through their bond _::he likes it.::_

_::He likes… pain?::_

_::Rough. I feel his… field.::_

_::okay…::_

Drift was getting loud too, confirming Megatron’s words, loud in a good way. Moans and grunts were crescendoing to shouts and yells, and though it must have hurt to be fragged so brutally… it all sounded like he was really enjoying it. Optimus shrugged. Each mech to his pleasure he supposed and scooted closer in front of the mech. Megatron saw him coming closer and yanked the white helm up, the panting mouth in perfect position to ease his spike into it… which he did with a small groan. 

Drift still showed no protest, in fact his glossa started to tease the intruder… raggedly of course as Megatron was still ramming into his back end, but it was enough for Optimus to moan deeply and rock into the hot mouth with its welcoming glossa. Megatron found the rhythm just perfect to push the white helm onto his spike and Optimus – to make sure no unwelcome surprises came again – grabbed the long helm-spurs. To his surprise Drift’s field immediately went into a garbled riot and overloaded around their spikes… Megatron panted, shrugged and Optimus, a bit hazily, copied the motion. Neither of them had any problem their pet enjoying roughness or overloading as many times as he wanted. As far as they got their enjoyment out of him…

… which they certainly did. The white mech could, after a little time swallow his spike nearly completely, which not many mecha could claim before and the tightly stretched lipplates around his member gave Optimus some fierce enjoyment. Their fields deeply mixing, they all felt a little of the others’ enjoyment, further stoking their own fire. Grunts were echoing the huge chamber, only their own as Drift couldn’t give voice to his own, and this time it was Megatron who went over first, slamming into the messy valve with a strength so rarely unleashed and pumping it full with steaming hot transfluid. Helm thrown backward his brother released a roar so loud, the fixtures all around shook and cubes clinked… and Optimus was sure that the guards might come running to check on them.

He laughed, sobbing and moaning as that last thrust pushed Drift fully onto his spike and his grip dented the audials. Optimus just then felt the first flicker of true pain from the white mech – with his size, that had to be way too deep in his intakes and probably bruising the soft inner lining. But there was no time for consideration because Optimus too felt overload coming and he gave into it. Transfluid squirted down the intake tubing as he curled forward, straining and panting until he felt empty and slumped even more forward. This time, the muffled grunt was clearly pained and the white mech, though overloading the last time too, but he squirmed like wanting to get out from under their bulk. 

“Just... a… klik…”

Optimus panted as he tried to regain his balance, while Megatron already regaining his senses was pulling out and supported Optimus upright too. Drift squirmed and writhed but finally he pulled off his spike – Optimus couldn’t help but moan again at the wet slide of those stretched lips – coughed, spat and hacked. He also sprawled on the berth a little aside from them and Optimus could clearly see energon staining the covers besides the usually mess. In a klik he would care about it too. But right now Megatron claimed his mouth for a kiss and it made Optimus forget all about Drift and his condition. Their messy spikes rubbed together and his brother pulled Optimus down to the berth, still locked in a kiss and embrace. 

It was so rare that they touched intimately but with no intention to fight it out. It was almost novel to just simply kiss his brother and not struggle for dominance. It was liberating not to have to watch out for a hidden move or a sly blow. It made him feel like so long ago, when they were just Orion and Megatronus, loving brothers, youngsters still innocent, who knew nothing about interfacing and dominance and all the rest that came later and necessitated bringing somemech between them to enjoy… but never love. That they only had for each other.

They gasped invents as they broke apart, overheated systems demanding some cool air at last. The rare calm moment was already breaking apart as Optimus felt Megatron shift over him and rock his spike between his thighs…

“N-no… not now…”

But his brother was insistent and Optimus started to fidget.

“You guys sure have a lot of stamina…”

Two sets of optics turned towards the almost forgotten third mech still sprawled beside them.

“I mean, okay, I do know what I have signed up for… but if you start fighting right here, then I will just move over there.”

Megatron froze over him and Optimus almost saw the gears turning in his helm. 

“We didn’t… break you?”

“Nope. Sure I will be sore, walking funny and Ratchet will yell at me again, but I’m okay.”

“Good to hear, because we still have a use for you yet.”

“Yeah, I heard double action was a fad with you.”

Well, it wasn’t like their preferences were secret. Most mecha in Iacon at least heard some of it, quite a few of them from firsthand stories. 

“Most mecha are afraid of that. Especially with us.”

“Well. Can’t say either of you is, umm, small, so yeah. It’s an intimidating prospect.”

“But you want to try.”

Drift looked at the same time sheepish and eager.

“I…” he swallowed, some of the roughness disappearing from his voice “…yeah.”

“Why? I know that it is not a popular thing except among Seekers. Usually our companions have to be convinced to try. So why do you…?”

“I had this… dream a few times. Two mecha I ever felt… close to. And I imagined what it would be like… being with both of them.”

“But…? Why not try with them?”

“Umm… one is lost, the other… I have no chance. It’s a moot point. But a mech can dream…”

“All right. I do not mean to pry.”

But he certainly intended to afterwards. Let Megatron call it matchmaking, but Optimus liked to see their temporary partner find a real companion… or two if that was his preference... and usually subtly steered them towards a hopefully compatible partner. It took little effort with the tools at their disposal and it caused him – and the Matrix too! – good feels. 

_::Can that mech be Ratchet?::_

_::Maybe… and that unnamed Knight he almost mentioned at one point?::_

_::Worth look into.::_

_::I will do that. You care about Galvatron and Hot Rod.::_

_::Be careful, Optimus. Those Knights… they sound dangerous.::_

_::He says they are… lost?::_

_::Nomech can be lost in the Empire. If noone else, then Jazz could find them.::_

_::No. Let Jazz work with Hot Rod.::_

_::Right. Now, let’s play with this one a little more, shall we?::_

“I feel left out.”

They both turned incredulous optics towards the white speedster sitting with arms crossed and… pouting? Hardly any mechs dared to speak so flippantly around them and it was as refreshing as it was strange. 

“Yeah, I could be more polite and deferential, but slag, it was you wanting me in your berth, so…”

Optimus laughed, the deep and sonorous sound rolling around the chamber. He decided that he liked this mech and he pounced, stopping his sentence before it could be finished. 

“Soon enough…” – he murmured into one sharp audials – “…you’ll have more attention than even you wish for.”

Drift melted into his arms eagerly, but Optimus stood, supporting the smaller mech easily.

“It’ll be easier in the pool.”

The scented, clear, warm solvent was lapping at them softly as Optimus sank into it, dragging Drift with him. Megatron followed them in silence and he sat and leaned back at the edge of the pool, waist deep in the warm liquid. Optimus lifted Drift easily, settling him on his brother’s lap.

_::Stuff his valve both or go separately?::_

_::Try the aft port. You never go for it.::_

Optimus huffed and turned the speedster around to face Megatron. 

_::You just want me to work for it some more.::_

_::I indulge you enough as it is, brother.::_

Megatron kissed Drift with just a tiny wink in his field and Optimus wasted no time to prepare the tight aft port. Drift spread his legs easily, presenting his aft to his digits and even pushed back when Optimus penetrated him with a lubricated digit to test the tightness.

“Eager, ain’t you…” he murmured into the audials and Drift answered by pushing back even more, relaxing the usually tight cables. Optimus could fit two digits in all too easily by the time Megatron stopped the kiss and lowered Drift onto his spike. The valve was still red and puffy and some energon dissolving from it into the water, but neither of them felt anything else but eagerness and arousal in the white mech’s field. Optimus spread his digits and felt his brother’s shaft stretching the mesh through the thin membranes. 

“Ready… take me…!”

Who was he to complain about overeager partners, Optimus mused? He would surely feel the spike after such an inadequate preparation, but he was eager and he did like the slight pain before. Megatron held Drift unmoving as Optimus shifted into position and the swollen tip of his spike nudged the tight outer ring. 

“Y-yesss!”

It was still too tight, still too stretched, but Optimus pushed and strained and with a yelp from Drift the tip popped inside.

“Ooooohhh…!”

It was in fact so tight it almost hurt _him_. Drift was trying to move but Megatron held him and Optimus tried not to move before he could and before he would cause serious damage.

“Stay still or I’ll rip you apart!”

Fortunately he listened and slowly the tight cables relaxed bit by bit and the soft mesh stretched as lubricant softened it. He was still tight but Optimus could now move and slowly rock inside the tight channel. Drift shouted, an incoherent sound of pleasure-pain as together they stretched him wider than ever, Megatron now slowly lowering him onto their spikes, Optimus doing his best not to just ram into the silky hotness, just push in and in slow, deeper and deeper, strain against the other hard shaft so tantalizingly close but still apart…

It was the best thing about their playthings. Not the eager valves, not the tight afts, nor even the obedient mouths. This, to feel his brother’s spike throbbing so close, rubbing it through the thin walls, feeling it like nowhere else… it was the closest they came to being equals, and equally dominants in the berth when they shared a mech in such a way, when their fields merged and shared pleasure, when their bond opened fully and they thrust in like one, pulled out like one, moaned like one… it spurred them to overload faster than anything else, feeling each other, joined to each other through the third mech – one they didn’t love but were greatly thankful for giving them this feeling that they couldn’t get in any other way.

Drift was shouting now in a language neither of them recognized and ground down on their spikes like a madmech, completely uncaring about the state of his overstretched and bleeding equipment. Even Megatron, usually the most cognizant in the throes of passion was having trouble keeping them upright and more or less out of the warm solvent. Optimus sped up his thrusts and caused waves of solvent to spray every which way, making the shallow pool like a storm-whipped sea. Sank deep into their bond, field intermingling it took them to reach completion mere breems. They pumped Drift even fuller, slender abdominals distorting outwards slightly as tightly stretched lips around their shafts allowed no transfluid to escape.

“Primus…!”

Optimus wasn’t sure who yelled that, but maybe it was him… just before he slumped forward and let the amazing overload and feel Megatron also teetering at the edge send them both into a reboot.


End file.
